


My Canvas

by Stefano Valentini (MissingOneEye)



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game), The Evil Within 2 - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Art, Betrayal, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cheating, Claiming Bites, Come as Lube, Confusion, Death, Desperation, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, Fear of Death, Gore, Hallucinations, Implied Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Joseph Oda - Freeform, Knife Kink, Knifeplay, Lies, Love Bites, M/M, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mind Games, Myra Hanson (mentioned) - Freeform, Necrophilia, Nightmares, Pain, Porn With Plot, Possible Multiple Endings?, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Self Harm, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, Teasing, Teeth, Temporary Amnesia, The Guardian (mentioned), Wound Fucking, mental trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 27,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissingOneEye/pseuds/Stefano%20Valentini
Summary: His eyes opened.The first thought that ran through his head was that everything hurt.The second was that he was afraid he was dead.





	1. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stefano Valentini is supposed to be dead. 
> 
> Sebastian Castellanos killed him, or so they both thought. 
> 
> For some reason, however, Stefano's eyes are opening in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not played through to at least the end of Stefano, you may not understand this. It may also give spoilers.

 

His eyes opened.

 

His eyes  _opened_ and he stared up toward the cracks that had formed in a once beautiful ceiling. He couldn't decide if that made it more or less so, but he didn't want to think right now.

 

There were multiple thoughts running through his mind already, and he couldn't quite figure any of them out. The world was suddenly a stranger to him, and it was rather unusual considering. He sighed quietly, and let his eyes fall closed again. He felt tired, and only wanted to sleep a little longer. 

 

His thoughts took that moment of weakness to flood his conscience. His first coherent realization was that everything in his body, from bone to muscle, throbbed unpleasantly. His second was that he was afraid that he was dead. That led to a third thought that he didn't want to think about, so he let his eyes open again to block out what he didn't want to hear. 

 

Or perhaps it was more accurate to say  _eye._

 

Stefano Valentini was supposed to be dead. Or, he at least thought that was the case. He couldn't quite recall. The Gods, whoever the hell they were, seemed to have deemed it necessary for him to suffer a bit longer. 

 

Maybe Union was just hell all along. 

 

His mouth was dry, and tasted of copper. Normally, he didn't notice the scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. It was always around him, so he paid it no mind. This time, however, it was different. His blood was what stung his nostrils, and coated his tongue.  _His blood_ was not as pleasant as theirs, or maybe it was just the fact that it meant he had been wounded. 

 

He hadn't felt pain like this since...since he didn't want to think about it.

 

Sebastian Castellanos,  _his canvas,_ was gone. Nowhere to be seen. What if someone else found him first? The idea left a bitter taste, and Stefano frowned. Those foul things would ruin such a beautiful subject, and then what? Leave Stefano with the remains? How cruel. 

 

He tried to sit up, and let out a pathetic cry. The pain that invaded his body was far worse than he'd previously assumed, and what was even more unfortunate than that was that his clothes were now disgusting, stained with grime and his blood. The fabric felt stiff now, and clung to his skin, scrapping against it roughly. It wasn't enjoyable, and he despised it. He also currently despised moving, so he remained where he was, trying to catch his breath as sensations greeted him in white hot flashes that spread across his eye. 

 

"Oh...so cruel. So pitiful. I do enjoy a good game..."

 

Except he didn't. Not right now. He'd gotten cocky, and he was suffering for it. 

 

_He just wanted to sleep._

 

He quietly swore, and managed to drag himself toward a wall. He leaned against it, his vision blurring and his muscles screaming at him to stay put. He felt like he was dying, or maybe that's not a good choice of words. He was dying, or maybe not. He wasn't quite sure anymore. He thought that he'd already died.

 

He'd seen so many colors besides red. So many different shades, and then just black.

 

Now, as he looked around, it was just red. 

 

Stefano didn't understand.

 

For the first time in a while, he felt like he wasn't holding the cards. Oh, Sebastian Castellanos interested him. Such a man. He had nothing but a couple of guns, and a dedication to find the Core, yet he still managed to best Stefano.

 

_Yet Stefano was still here._

 

The Core, where did she go?

 

Where did Sebastian go?

 

After her, presumably. 

 

That meant that HE probably got involved, and that made Stefano cringe. He forced himself up, and pressed a firm hand against his stomach. He wasn't sure what to do now.

 

Then, he heard it. 

 

A strange groaning that he recognized all too well. He smiled softly, and let out a short shrill whistle. The groan was accompanied by the mechanical sound of steps approaching and the creaking of the camera's neck as she peered into the room he was in. She let out an excited noise, and ran over to him on her three gorgeous legs. She was his prized creation, and he marveled at her as she neared him.

 

"My darling Obscura..." Stefano's voice sounded foreign to his ears. His accent was heavy with pain, and the words struggled to roll off of his tongue. He inhaled sharply, felt his heart racing in anticipation, and then he slowly exhaled.

 

Obscura seemed to sense something was wrong with him, and anxiously tread in place. He hummed reassuringly, and her camera extended toward him. 

 

"I am in desperate need of your help, my beautiful Obscura. Listen, per favore, find me something. Find me someone. Yes, I need you to. Are you listening?"

 

She craned her neck curiously to show that she was, and he hummed again, thinking.

 

"You remember him, yes? The man, the living one...here before? Ah, yes, find him for me?" 

 

Obscura stomped one of her feet in place, and seemed to tremble with excitement. 

 

"Grazie..."


	2. Beauty in Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus. I posted this a few hours ago, and people are already giving me kudos and bookmarks. 
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> I hope that you all like this. I have no idea what I'm doing.

Sebastian Castellanos' mind was in a perpetual state of dreaming, of floating, and he was constantly struggling to figure out what was truly real. The people he'd spoken with, the blood that he saw splattered across the walls and across his clothes, he didn't know for certain. Even the pain that he felt didn't seem to actually be there sometimes. To say it was driving him crazy was an understatement. He felt worse than crazy. He felt unstable, and every action he made was met with doubt. He was positive that at one point in his life he was confident in his choices. Now he wasn't so sure. 

 

Union was falling apart at a rapid rate, and he didn't want to find out what would happen to him if he remained until it was completely gone. Would he float around lost in time, and space? Lost in whatever the hell this  _void_ was? Or would he suffocate, die before he ever found out? He frowned at those thoughts and sighed. The ache from the cut that Stefano was gracious enough to leave him grounded him, so he supposed he should thank the "artist" for that. Fucker be damned. The thought of him led to other, more ambiguous questions. What happened to you in here after you died? Did you just cease to exist? Would he just cease to exist? Sebastian wouldn't say that his life was the best lived, or that his time was the best spent, but he wasn't sure how he felt about just disappearing forever.

 

That truly was a punishment, wasn't it?

 

When the answer didn't come immediately, Sebastian worried that perhaps he really had gone insane. 

 

The brunette sighed, and wiped at his face. He wasn't surprised to see his hand come back covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. He'd need a long hot shower after he got out of here.  _If_ he got out of here. This madhouse was only getting worse with time. When one sociopathic piece of shit was killed, another rose up out of his place. Whoever the hell Theodore was, he was a problem. Sebastian licked at his chapped lips and tightened his grip on his gun. A problem that needed dealing with, and unfortunately the detective was the only one suitable for the job it seemed.

 

"Goddamn...this place is fucking crazy." 

 

The streets were beginning to crack underneath his feet. It wasn't a concern that he had to instantly worry about, but it was unsettling to say the least. Sebastian peered around a corner, and frowned at the sight of what lay before him. So many disgusting creatures walking around like zombies. The Lost, he'd read they were called. He didn't care what the hell their name was, he wanted to avoid them as best as possible. 

 

He checked on his ammunition, and swore. He'd need to find more soon, and the more he looked around the more he thought that soon was getting a lot closer than he wanted. The brunette fiddled around with his communicator, and flinched when a spark of static spread through he silence. Something was near by, and he wasn't sure he wanted to risk his life to go find out what that something was. 

 

* * * * * * 

 

_There was a beauty found in pain, found in death, that life couldn't hold a flame to. Death showed that people had lived, had suffered, and were finally able to rest. Death was a masterpiece in itself, and the blood was the paint that was splattered onto a blank canvas. The bodies were the models, able to be sculpted and shaped into perfection. Death hid the subject's flaws, and only showed the beauty that the artist wanted to be shown._

 

_Stefano Valentini had not been that lucky._

 

_He stared at his reflection, and was only mortified by what he saw staring back at him. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reached up and desperately tried to comb his hair over the horrid thing that screamed out for people to notice it. He could feel the eyes staring back at him. The people who had suffered nothing._

 

_"I regret to inform you..."_

 

_Stefano squeezed his eyes closed, his eye closed. He felt nauseated, felt like he could puke up his guts. Maybe he would. The world was spinning. He couldn't breathe. He clutched at his chest as the doctors stared down at him. The doctors with their white clothes, and their white walls. They were trying to hard to look perfect, and they were UNTOUCHED._

 

_"That your eye..."_

 

**_'No. No. No.'_ **

 

_"Has been damaged beyond repair. Unfortunately, after the accident..."_

 

**_'I hate all of you.'_ **

 

_"There was still some shrapnel that we couldn't remove..."_

 

**_'Cazzo. Cazzo. Cazzo... No. No, you lying pieces of shit. With your perfect teeth. I'll tear them out.'_ **

 

_"You're very fortunate to be alive today..."_

 

_Stefano didn't want to hear their words. The bandages, the pain throbbing behind them, he couldn't hide from their words. From the truth. He continued to desperately try to brush the hair into his face. There wasn't enough off it. They could see it. They were staring at him. He wouldn't stop trembling. One of the doctors moved him away from the mirror, forced him to sit down. He was going to puke._

 

_"The shrapnel didn't hit your brain, didn't damage your skull. You are very fortunate."_

 

_You are very fortunate to be alive today._

 

**_'My eye. Where is my eye?'_ **

 

_"I know this isn't the best situation, but with time, and help, we will help you adjust to this."_

 

_**'Liars.'**  
_

 

_**'Ti ammazzo.'** _

 

_"Grazie."_

A vibrant blue eye opened slowly, and stared up toward an unfamiliar decrepit ceiling. Stefano had moved locations, but it took him a moment to remember that. He frowned, and hesitantly rolled onto his side. The pain was less obvious, seemed to be ebbing away, and with a deep breath he managed to lift himself off of the raggedy mattress he'd slept in. It wasn't his, but sooner or later he'd be home, surrounded by his art and by the familiarity of a world he created.

 

He was too tired right now. 

 

Stefano let out a sigh as the small stabs of pain passed, and his slender fingers touched softly at the clothing that lined his body. It was uncomfortable, and rubbing against his skin hard enough to leave scratches, he was sure. He wanted the disgusting thing off of him, but was patient enough to wait until he arrived home. He had to be patient in his line of business, had to wait until the perfect moment to capture the beauties that he created. One second too late, or too soon, could potentially ruin everything.

 

He licked at his bottom lip, and shuddered a bit at the thought. Sebastian Castellanos, the  _detective,_ would be worth it, he was sure. He moved to stand, but moved too quickly, and he was greeted once again by unpleasant sensations that ran along the railroad of his spine. Stefano believed that he'd rather feel nothing at all than what he was currently feeling, but the detective would help him recover in one way or another. 

 

Sebastian owed him that much, after all. 

 

Stefano ran fingers through his hair, and looked around at his surroundings. He swore quietly, feeling pathetic as he managed to gather his senses. He'd let himself be swayed into this mess, and it was only fair that he see it through. He couldn't help that the detective was tempting. The artist couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself lose control like that, and the thought brought a smirk to his lips. It was a strange game, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. He supposed he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Stefano should feel grateful. 

 

After all...

 

 _He was very fortunate to be alive today._  

 

 


	3. Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one looked at Stefano Valentini the same way after the war.
> 
> No one looked at Sebastian Castellanos the same after STEM.
> 
> It seems like maybe they have something in common after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three! Alright!
> 
> I apologize if anything offends anyone. I don't have a plan when I write. I just go with the flow. Feel free to give ideas.

Sebastian's legs were screaming in protest as he remained crouched, watching the streets quietly. He could taste blood on his tongue, and he wasn't sure who it belonged to anymore. It was probably his, or maybe it wasn't. He had no idea. His brain was pounding against his skull, and the world around him was far too bright, the lights invading his eyes and assaulting his mind further. The only hope he had left was placed in his firepower, in his guns and their ammunition. Without them he knew he wouldn't get very far. 

 

It was ironic really. When he first joined the KCPD, he had been hesitant about aiming the gun at anyone, let alone taking a life. Now, it seemed like all he was capable of, especially after he'd gone through Beacon. God, he could still remember that. He didn't want to, but it was all he thought about. This place, this  _Union,_ was so much worse. He wondered which thoughts would bother him most after he left this place. 

 

It wasn't just his thoughts that bothered him. After Beacon, he wasn't sure what he could trust. Wasn't sure what was actually real. He was afraid that any second could become a relapse. He didn't want to touch another gun, but he slept with one underneath his pillow. Sebastian had been a wreck, and everyone around seemed to feel the same about him. They avoided him, or censored what they said. They spoke to him like he was delicate.  

 

_Everyone's eyes stared toward him everywhere he went, and it felt as though he'd never leave them. All he heard was their apologies, and the silence whenever he entered the room. There was nothing but hesitation when anyone did anything around him, like he'd break if they did something wrong._

 

_"So, this place was called Beacon, you said...?"_

 

_"I think you're just stressed. You should rest more."_

 

_"You've really been working too hard. I think it's making you see things."_

**_'Goddammit, no one listens to me.'_ **

 

_"I'm sorry for your loss. Oda was a good man."_

**_'You all think I'm fucking crazy.'_ **

 

_"I think that you should take some time off and try to get your life back together, Sebastian."_

 

**_'This is how Myra felt, when I didn't believe her. When I told her to get some rest. I should've just listened.'_ **

 

The sound of bare feet smacking against wet concrete rapidly snapped Sebastian out of his thoughts, and he looked around for the source quickly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he recognized it, but he couldn't be sure of anything anymore. When he peered around a corner, all he saw where the bastards walking around lifelessly, letting out their death rattles. He frowned. He didn't see anything making the sound that he'd sworn he'd heard. 

 

This place was getting to him. He wasn't thinking straight.

 

It was only after he heard the groaning that he knew for sure. His grip tightened on his pistol, and he felt his heart rate increase drastically. He'd killed the fucking artist, but if the noise he was hearing was any indication to go on it seemed the camera was still tottering around like a puppet with its strings cut. 

 

He peered around the corner again, and was met with a blinding flash.

 

* * * * * *

 

_'Home sweet home at last.'_

 

Stefano wanted to take a shower, a bath, anything really. At this rate, he was sure he could push aside his pride long enough to roll around in a goddamn puddle if it meant cleaning his skin, freeing it of the muck that clung to it. He let out an agitated sigh, and squeezed his eye closed. It didn't take long for him to relax, and he smiled as he opened his eye once more. He was finally home, finally trapped inside his gorgeous mansion, his gilded cage. His beautiful home that he'd missed so much. Of course, it was far from perfect, but it was getting there.

 

_'Perhaps with the detective's help, no?'_

 

As he headed up the carpeted steps, he let out another, more relieved sigh.

 

A bath sounded nice.

 

* * * * * *

 

The artist was toweling dry when he heard the creaking of Obscura's steps, and the telltale sounds of her feet on the wood. He smiled pleasantly, and listened to the woman's groaning outside of his door. 

 

"Yes, my precious? You've found him, of course. Wonderful..." 

 

He dressed himself calmly as the groaning grew more impatient, but he knew she knew better than to disobey. The clean clothes against his skin felt so much better than the ones he'd previously dawned. Slowly, he approached the doors, listening to the creature outside of them walking anxiously in place. She was like a dog, but much better behaved. 

 

Stefano pulled the doors open, and smiled at his lovely creation. 

 

"Show me, my darling Obscura. Where is he?"


	4. Pop Goes The Weasel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flashing of cameras, and the questions that the news always asked. 
> 
> Always the same response, the same answer to those disgusting questions.
> 
> "No comment?"
> 
> "No comment, detective? Are you sure?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four!!! 
> 
> I'll try to keep writing! I am feeling the vibes. Listening to Moonlight Sonata.

_Whenever a case ended, Sebastian remembered being greeted by the flashing lights of camera bulbs, and microphones were thrust into his face. They always demanded an answer, but he never said. The reporters wanted to know exactly what happened, and why it happened. It was never for the sake of the public's protection, just their unease. The media thrived on scaring people. It thrived on other's suffering for monetary gain._

 

_This particular case had been a nasty one. There was a serial killer wandering the vicinity of Krimson City. Nearly eight victims to his name by the time they caught him. The bastard targeted kids, and left their bodies strewn across beds of flowers as though mocking the police. The detective nearly put a bullet in between his eyes. He didn't. He managed to refrain, but even still the urge was there. It unsettled him at the time. It felt good to do bad things to bad people. They deserved it._

 

_Ah, but the cameras. He always despised coming back to the ambush of news agencies that awaited him at the precinct._

 

_"Is it true that..."_

 

_"Who was it? Who did those terrible things?"_

 

_"No comment."_

 

**_'They always ask these damned questions. Won't they learn that I'm not fucking answering?'_ **

 

_"Detective! Detective, is it true..."_

_"No comment. I'm not authorized to release that information."_

 

_**'Fuck off.'**  
_

 

_The detective pushed open the precinct doors, and wait..._

 

_What was that?_

 

_Sebastian's eyes widened in disbelief. This didn't seem right at all. This wasn't how he remembered it._

 

_Picture frames lined the walls around the office, but he didn't recognize any of them. No one seemed to comment on them either. The paintings inside them, or the...photographs...were grotesque. They seemed familiar, but they certainly didn't belong here._

 

_"Nice work out there detective!"_

 

_He peeled his eyes away from one frame in particular, and glanced toward the sound of the voice._

 

_No._

 

_What the hell?_

 

_Everyone's faces...they were just wrong. Their smiles, their eyes, they were all wrong. Everything seemed out of place, and strange. This wasn't his office. Where was he?_

 

_"Nice...work...out...there...detective."_

_The world around him seemed contorted, and disfigured. Sebastian took an involuntary step back and stared toward them. He was shocked, couldn't speak. This wasn't right. What the hell was happening?_

 

_"My mother taught me how to sew..."_

 

_Sebastian tensed up._

 

_"And how to thread the needle..."_

 

**_'What the fuck? Where is that coming from?'_ **

 

_The man looked around, and tried to find who was singing. He only saw the people that were supposedly his coworkers. They were all staring blankly toward him, but none of their lips moved. He turned quickly, confused, and followed the sound of the singing._

 

_"Every time my finger slips..."_

 

_Sebastian was running down an unfamiliar hall now. This definitely wasn't his place of work. He had no idea where he was. The names on the plaques weren't the names that he knew. He was nearing the end of the hall, so he slowed to a walk. The singing was coming from beyond a closed door._

 

_The name on the door was..._

 

_Stefano Valentini?_

 

"Pop goes the weasel."

 

There was a flash, and the world went black.


	5. My Gift to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All forms of art were admired.
> 
> Photographs, and canvases to be painted on. 
> 
> The sound of the brush across a blank surface never failed to please him. His white noise to help him sleep, even after tragedies. 
> 
> And now he had a a living model, a beautiful subject.
> 
> His sculpture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this when I should have been paying attention in class.

When Sebastian woke up, all he felt was pain. The throbbing inside his skull from the previous headache only seemed to have grown worse with time, and he squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to block out the sensory overload that flooding his mind through the canal of his eyes. Slowly, he let them open again and examined the room around him. He couldn't see much because the lights were dim, save for the spotlight dangling above his head. He was sitting in a chair, supposedly in the middle of wherever he was in this ocean of black, and he failed to notice the straps binding his wrists to the arms of it.

 

The man faintly recognized what he saw of his surroundings, but when he tried to recall where he'd seen them, he was met with an unusual static like cloud that invaded his brain and blanketed it, making him feel groggy and thoughtless. The detective became mildly startled, but it took too much energy out of him to properly react. He felt hazy and uncertain, letting his eyes fall closed again once more. A heavy groan escaped his lips, and his voice seemed far out of reach. 

 

"Ah, detective, it seems you've awoken, yes? Bene."

 

The brunette felt his body tense up, and his muscles whined in complaint. His eyes shot open again, and he quickly scanned the darkness for the source of the words. His heart sped up, and dread hung over him like a thunderstorm. 

 

He knew that voice all too well.

 

_The door's plaque said Stefano Valentini, like the bastard had worked there all along. Right beside Sebastian, Joseph, and everyone else. Beside Myra. He reached forward to push it open, and was greeted by a familiar flash. The sound of a click echoed through the silence. The clicking of a camera, the shutter blinking. He raised a hand to block the light, but it was too late._

 

"I killed you."

 

"Hmm, yes, I thought so as well," the Italian mused from somewhere in the room. 

 

"You son of a bitch, I killed you!" 

 

The silence his outbreak was met with was unsettling, and then a low chuckle spread throughout the area. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere at once. Then, a light came on a few feet away, then another accompanied by a sound that reminded Sebastian of popping.

 

The lights trailed forward until there was a lit path toward him.

 

The Italian stood on the other end of the room, underneath his own spotlight.

 

_'The damned bastard likes a show.'_

 

"Now, now, is that any way to speak to your generous host?"

 

"Host? You're not fucking host. Where the hell am I? How are you alive?! I put a bullet through your fucking head!"

 

Stefano only chuckled in response, and it made Sebastian inwardly cringe. The bastard was toying with him, or maybe he didn't know the answer to that question either. 

 

_How?_

 

"I welcome you into my home with open arms..." The man on the opposite end of the room took a step forward and outstretched his arms dramatically, his heels echoing off of the polished wood. "...to be greeted like this? How cruel."

 

"I'm not greeting you, you bastard," Sebastian replied curtly. 

 

The detective listened as the artist clicked his tongue in disapproval. 

 

"So unkind, detective." 

 

Sebastian tried to get up, and realized that restraints were holding him down. He felt like an idiot for not noticing them sooner, and suddenly everything seemed a tad bit more frightening than it had a few seconds before. He tugged wildly, but the ropes only tightened against his wrists, chaffing skin. The artist smirked. 

 

"I'm so terrified. I'm practically shaking," he mocked with a laugh. 

 

The brunette glared, but no amount of struggling was getting his arms free. 

 

"You son of a..."

 

Stefano was in front of him, his gloved index finger pressed firmly against the man's lips to silence him, cutting off his insult.

 

"Sh."

 

Sebastian's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't seen the artist move from his place at the other end of the room. 

 

"You speak too much, and your voice is unpleasant to the ears." 

 

With that, Stefano moved his finger away and grinned down at the detective. 

 

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes..." 

 

The artist turned his back to Sebastian, clearly confident in the ability of his restraints, and he gestured toward a newly lit area in the room. Underneath it was a gruesome display, an addition to his gallery. _An art piece_.

 

A woman sat in an oak chair with an object in her hands. Sebastian figured it was supposed to be a baby, but it looked more like a mound of melted flesh. Instead of a head, the woman had a wilting bouquet of flowers, of roses, shoved firmly into her throat where her vocal cords should have been. Blood soaked her clothing, a dress that was once white, and dripped onto the "baby's" face. The dress was pulled down enough to reveal a mangled breast, as though she were going to feed the child. 

 

"For you, detective, a gift."


	6. A Beauty to Die For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a baby cries for the first time, it makes you realize that you're really a parent now.
> 
> This living, breathing thing...you made it. 
> 
> When a baby laughs for the first time, it's even better because you made them happy. 
> 
> Stefano thinks the same about things when they die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SIX! 
> 
> Another chapter I wrote when I should have been listening in class. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-kvdw1CGOU
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcpKg5_lDpo

Sebastian tasted the sickeningly sweet tang of bile rise up in the back of his throat to say Hello, burning the roof of his mouth and bringing tears to his eyes as he forced himself to swallow it back down. He wasn't able to look away from the body, the corpse, and the odor of this decaying body was only now hitting him, smacking him in the face with a full force blow. It somehow managed to smell worse than the world he'd been wandering through not long ago. Sebastian shuddered, appalled by the horrors that lay in front of him. He didn't believe his eyes, couldn't. It was unreal. Worse than what he's seen. It was more psychotic, and this was  _planned._

 

Union was an accident. 

 

This was not.

 

He felt disgusted, yet he couldn't pry his eyes away. He felt disturbed, yet he wanted to keep studying it. He felt horrified, yet he was amazed that someone was capable of something like this. That's how Stefano's "art" made him truly feel. He was conflicted, and didn't know what to think. He really had been in this place for too long. 

 

"Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes on?"

 

"What...the fuck is that?"

 

The Italian let out a soft chuckle, and gently placed his hand against the detective's cheek. The leather was cold against his skin, but he managed to suppress a shudder. 

 

"Forgive me. I forget how simpleminded you are."

 

He pat his face before moving away from the man, and gesturing proudly to the body on display. 

 

"A masterpiece!"

 

"You sick fucker..."

 

"No, shh...you are unpleasant, selfish, blind. Examine it! You must learn to appreciate the art, sì. Without art, life would be such a bore, would it not?" The Italian let out a curt laugh before looking toward the man strapped to the chair. He smiled and strode toward him elegantly. 

 

"Do you not see?" 

 

"See what? The rotting corpse? Yeah, I see it."

 

"No! Look with your mind,  _your mind,_ not your eyes. Eyes lie. Shh. Consider it abstract then, detective. What does it remind you of?"

 

"...death."

 

"Deeper than that!"

 

"...you're fucking crazy."

 

"Your lack of imagination frightens me so! You can't possibly be as blind as they were. You must feel it too!" The artist seemed to be growing frustrated, and he looked at the detective with his eye narrowed. Sebastian remained quiet, and watched him.

 

"I can feel the pain radiating off of you like heat. I can  _smell_ it. Truly, you can understand the beauty of suffering!"

 

"The only beauty found in suffering is when you're finally fucking over it." 

 

Stefano smiled at him.  

 

Sebastian said nothing.

 

"But you are not over it, are you? _How do you feel?_ " 

 

_How do you feel?_

 

_"Sebastian, how do you feel?"_

 

_"I'm alright, just tired."_

 

_"You've been working yourself to death ever since..."_

 

_"I don't want to talk about that right now, Myra."_

 

_"Sebastian..."_

 

_"Myra, she's gone."_

 

_"I know she's out there somewhere. You have to believe me."_

 

_"Myra, we've been over this. Please, not tonight. Just...try to get some rest."_

 

Tears involuntarily rose up in the detective's eyes, and he heard the other man move, but didn't register it until a tongue swiped across the skin underneath his right eye. 

 

"What the fuck!"

 

"Your pain is beautiful, extraordinary. It draws me in like a moth to a flame. You have burned my wings once, detective, but I forgive you. I flutter my wings again, no?"

 

"How..?"

 

"There is no time for the question now," Stefano interrupted with a wave of his hand.

 

"You don't know the answer."

 

"Hmm...I suppose I do not, no. I recall dying, yes, but here I am. I stand before you, as clear as the day...or at least as clear as the day  _was._ It's all dark now. But never mind that!" The man took a new position behind Sebastian where his eyes could not follow, and the detective was startled by the artist's hands resting on the sides of his head. 

 

"Look now.  _Imagine."_

 

His eyes were forced back toward the body. 

 

**" _Feel."_**

 

_Sebastian stood outside the hospital room door, pacing anxiously and constantly checking the time on his phone. How long did this normally take? He wasn't sure, and it was making him worried. What if there were complications...? God, he didn't know what to think, and it was driving him crazy._

_Finally, the door opened and a woman stepped out. Sebastian recognized her as the doctor, and she had a soft smile on her face that made all of his burdens lift off of his shoulders. "You may come in...but be careful."_

 

_Sebastian nodded slowly, and hesitantly entered the room. The sight before him was beautiful. Myra looked disheveled, and in her hands was a baby. It was wrapped neatly in a blanket, and only one tiny hand peeked out. His heart stopped, and he captured this sight in his mind._

_"She's beautiful," Myra managed to mutter, and smiled weakly at him._

 

_"She?"_

 

_Myra nodded._

 

_"She is," Sebastian replied after the confirmation._

 

_"I think...Lily is perfect."_


	7. Childbirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what makes roses truly beautiful, detective?"
> 
> "I don't give a fuck."
> 
> "You speak too much. Did you know that there is a Greek myth associated with the rose?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow chapter 7!

Stefano watched the man trembling in the chair, pulling absentmindedly against the restraints that kept him in place. The cracks forming in his facade was alluring, and the artist had to stop himself from leaning forward to inhale the scent of his anguish. He cleared his throat to pull the detective's attention back to him.

 

"What does my piece mean to you? That is the question often asked in art, when examining art, and attempting to comprehend it." The Italian removed his hands from the other's face, and slowly began to stroll toward his sculpture.

 

"...it's disgusting."

 

"You speak out off a sense of fear, and foreboding. It clouds your sense of judgement, but I am thankful for it. I admire that you do not lie to make your case feel  _safer._ "

 

"You're fucking crazy."

 

"Ah, I see. Yes, you've clearly explained...let me show you my world." Stefano plucked one of the roses free of the woman's skin and lifted a single petal to the light, studying the veins that ran through it. It reminded him of how the veins stood out underneath pale flesh, how the skin was as easy to tear as tissue paper, and how the bruises formed when putrefaction set in. He smiled softly at it. 

 

"Did you know there is a Greek myth associated with the rose? According to the myth, King Theias was involved in a deceitful relationship with his flesh and blood, his daughter, Myrrha..."

 

Sebastian cringed.  

 

"When the King discovered the truth, he chased his daughter away with his sword. The Goddess, Aphrodite, wished to protect the woman, thus transforming her into a tree. The King Theias shot this tree with an arrow, splitting its bark in half. It was from this tree that Adonis was born."

 

"What the hell does this have to do with-"

 

"Aphrodite took it upon herself to raise Adonis as though he were her own son. She grew to love him as such. Adonis grew, became an avid hunter, hunted for sport."

 

"..."

 

"One day came, while he was hunting, when Adonis came across the God Ares, one of Aphrodite’s past lovers, who was in the shape of a wild boar. Ares mercilessly attacked Adonis..."

 

Stefano pressed a gloved finger against one of the thorns, feeling the tip of it threaten to break his skin.

 

"When Aphrodite heard his screams, the Goddess ran into the forest and found the man dying. The blood that ran from his wounds hit the ground..."

 

Stefano glanced toward Sebastian, dropped the rose to the floor, and slammed his heel against the flower crushing the petals underneath it. 

 

"...creating roses," Sebastian replied flatly. 

 

"Creating roses, yes. You're learning."

 

The detective frowned, and stared toward him as he approached. 

 

"But, what does the newfound knowledge tell you?"

 

"Nothing useful."

 

"Everything has a use, detective."

 

"It's a waste of time, and you're a lunatic."

 

The artist gestured to the body, and smiled at it. "This masterpiece has profound meaning, detective. Look,  _listen._ She wears white. White represents innocence, purity. Her blood stains it red. Red means quite a few different things. One, in the term of roses, red represents love, romance, hence the baby in her arms. The deprivation of innocence in exchange for love. But, the thorns on the roses represent loss, and thoughtlessness. A woman gives up her purity to love, but her love is a waste."

 

"Or she lost the child," Sebastian muttered without meaning to.

 

Stefano glanced toward him. "Or she lost the child." 

 

The detective narrowed his eyes, and said nothing. It felt like a stab toward him. This entire thing felt like a stab toward him, except that Stefano didn't  _know_ him. He didn't know anything about him, yet he seemed to. That made the brunette feel sick. Was he that easy to read?

"It could also represent rebirth, you understand. Myrrha was killed, and in her death Adonis was born. Adonis was killed, and in his death, reborn as the roses."

 

"Get me out of this fucking chair."

 

"Tsk. Tsk. You should really attempt to relax. You should trust me."

 

"I don't."

 

"You will." 


	8. Living Model

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those damned bastards do nothing, but sit on their thrones and stare down at me with their contempt. How dare they. They will regret what they said, I am certain of it. I want to cut their tongues out of their mouths, save their wasted lungs. 
> 
> Hmm, no. I despise them, but I am an artist first and foremost. 
> 
> I am an artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDb3QTFWaq0&spfreload=1

It was rather unusual to see the model squirming and thriving, so lively, breathing air through their lungs. Their perfect intact lungs. It was unusual for the skin to be warm underneath the leather of Stefano's glove as he pressed his palm against it, and it was unusual to see such a look of contempt able to be scrawled onto their ever changing features. A _surviving_ face.

 

Sebastian surprised him, but not nearly as much as he surprised himself.  

 

The detective was still alive after all, which confused the artist more than anything. He remembered screaming threats at the man during their confrontation, threatened to kill him even, and yet the man was seated right here before him. Sebastian was incapable of stopping him, but still alive, still  _breathing_ through his bloodied lips.

 

They drew Stefano's eyes to them like some sort of beacon, and he toyed absentmindedly with his knife as he studied the way the blood welled up like rubies, studied the way the detective's tongue would peek out from past their walls to lick it away. The artist wondered briefly how it happened, how it felt when the skin broke, if the man's teeth peeled the skin away enough to summon the crimson drops. 

 

The tip of his blade poked through his glove, and he barely noticed. He stared straight ahead, watching the rubies shimmer off of the woman, dressing her elegantly. Red was such a better hue than white. He preferred red. It was more expressive. White was too clean.

 

"Tell me about yourself, detective."

 

"Fuck you."

 

"I see," Stefano replied, licking at his own bottom lip and prying his eyes away from the carcass. He glanced down at the man, and hummed quietly. "I have never worked with living clay before."

 

"What?"

 

"Ah, allow me to rephrase. I have never endured working with a living model, yet here you are. You are breathing, no? Certo che sì! And here I stand, armed, while you struggle uselessly. It's futile, of course. You are unable to get free, but I am unable to kill you."

 

"The fuck does that even mean?"

 

"I mean, my dear detective, that I do not wish to kill you. Not yet, at least. There's still time, yes. Still time to enjoy this." 

 

"Enjoy what, you sick fuck?"

 

"Seeing you struggle, and writhe like a desperate little worm. Are you a worm, detective? A little caterpillar. You certainly act like one. Perhaps I can help you grow, yes...perhaps I can help you spread your wings?"

 

"You better not fucking touch me!" 

 

Stefano said nothing for a while, walking around the brunette. He studied him, noting all the blood that dried to his skin, all the scrapes with their droplets of scarlet, and every single bruise exploding into shades of blue, purple, and red. He wondered how many were hiding from his eyes, underneath clothing, and blinked slowly. "What type of butterfly do you think you are? Or perhaps you are a moth?"

 

"What the hell..."

 

"A  _Calephelis virginiensis? Chlosyne janais?_ Or the moths, what type?  _Acherontia lachesis_? Yes, that seems right for you. The markings on that moth resemble a human skull. They call it the 'Death Head' moth." 

 

"Wouldn't that be accurate for you, you psychotic-"

 

Stefano silenced Sebastian by roughly grabbing his chin, peering into his eyes curiously. 

 

"Have you seen the chaos you bring? The chaos that follows behind you like a train of ducklings? You, detective, are worse than I. You are the Herald of Destruction, yes. The Omen of the Fall." The words rolled off of Stefano's tongue, and sent shudders down the brunette's spine. 

 

"You're crazy..."

 

"Perhaps, but I am educated. I see your true colors, the shades that you harbor. Your soul is black. Your heart is black. Your hues are identical to mine."

 

"I'm nothing like you," Sebastian replied with a snarl before spitting into the artist's face. Stefano let out an aggravated cry, and stepped back, wiping a hand across his cheek. 

 

"How vile!" 

 

"Still think I'm like you..."

 

"I do not think anything. I  _know._ You can attempt to hide from others, but you can never hide from yourself."

 

Sebastian stared at him with furrowed brows, noticed how he focused on his hair and gingerly touched his face, and he had a sudden realization. 

 

"Maybe you should practice what you preach, Stefano."  


	9. Inspire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily Lewis had such high hopes.
> 
> But, so did Stefano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily Lewis was the model/actress that was murdered by Stefano. 
> 
> The headless mannequin. ;)

_When Stefano first met Emily Lewis, he'd thought she was quite attractive. Of course, how could he not? Her brunette hair was always perfect, and her caramel skin seemed radiant with light. The way she walked, and held herself was elegant. He enjoyed his time with her, at first. As a photographer, he wasn't wrong to want to capture the beauty being portrayed before him. That's what being a photographer was all about, no? Ah, but no one seemed to understand that. He was sure they would eventually._

 

_"Stefano, are you listening?"_

 

_Emily was peering at him curiously, and her brows were furrowed in concern. He glanced up at her, and smiled. "Of course."_

 

_"Are you feeling alright," she questioned, her hand on his knee._

 

_"I'm feeling fine. I seem to have zoned out there briefly, I apologize."_

 

_"Want to try again," she asked with a chuckle._

 

_"Yes, yes, what was the line?"_

 

_"Hmm, let me see..."_

 

* * * * * *

 

"What made you start killing?"

 

The question took Stefano off guard, and he glanced to the detective. Chocolate eyes met his cyan ones, but the artist couldn't read the man's expression. The blood was beginning to dry, and scabs began to blanket the open wounds, sealing them with various shades of red. 

 

Sebastian with his filthy brunette hair, and his caramel skin. 

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"What made you start killing? Those people...the model in the park, that was you wasn't it?"

 

"The model in the park," the artist replied slowly. 

 

"The headless one," Sebastian muttered, and continued to watch Stefano's actions as though expecting him to lash out violently.

 

"Ah."

 

"You don't even remember her name, do you?"

 

"Hmm, yes. I do. I remember her name quite vividly," Stefano replied, and tapped his chin with his index finger, pondering. A smile spread across his lips as he turned his attention away from the man in the chair. "Why do you ask such a strange question?"

 

"Maybe this fucking chair is getting to me."

 

"Perhaps."

 

"That's what everyone wants to know, right? They want to know why serial killers kill. You're clearly a serial killer." 

 

"I don't much prefer that term."

 

"I don't give a fuck what you prefer." 

 

Stefano hummed quietly in response and glanced at him. The man was still staring at him, brows angled downward deliciously. Something about the man's look made the artist smile pleasantly. A true grimace, a look of malice, a look of pain. His eyes said so much, yet the artist could only dip his toes in!

 

"Quid pro quo, detective?"

 

"Quid pro quo?"

 

"Ah, hmm. An  _eye_ for an eye. I will answer your question, IF in exchange, you answer mine," the artist explained slowly, as though the man before him was an imbecile.

 

"Like fuck I will."

 

"Then you will learn nothing."

 

The detective said nothing for a long moment. 

 

"What do you want to know?"

 

"Why do you seek the Core? Be honest. Lying will not be tolerated."

 

"The Core," Sebastian trailed off, and bowed his head. How humble he looked, with his head bowed gracefully before Stefano. The artist watched him with an expression much like amusement written on his face. 

 

"She's my daughter."

 

"Your daughter? This raggedy detective found someone to bed?" Stefano chuckled at the look of annoyance that was tossed his way. 

 

"Yes. I said what you wanted."

 

"Children are such a burden though, would you not agree? Here you sit before me, unable to get free of your restraints, and you still have hopes that you can save this child? You believe that she'll be _i_ _nnocent_ when you find her?" 

 

"...I don't know what I think. I know that I can't sit around letting sick bastards like you put your hands on her."

 

"Yet here you are, detective.  _Sitting._ "

 

The artist's words caused another bout of struggling from the detective, to no avail. He laughed softly, and ran his fingers through the brunette hair. It brought great pleasure to him to see the man jerk away from his touch. 

 

"Perhaps I should let you loose. Give you a bed to rest in. Would kindness break a man's defenses faster than pain?"

 

Stefano crouched before the detective.

 

"Or, is the better question... _will you break?_ "

 

* * * * * *

 

_E_ _mily's screams were unpleasant to his ears, so he made sure to kill her quickly. Her beauty must be preserved, and he must be the preserver. No one else would take the initiative, but it had to be done. Age distorts, and destroys. Things that were once beautiful always become intolerable, and ugly. Death was a stopping place, but it was not the end._

 

_No, for Stefano, it was only the beginning._

 

 


	10. Sights Set On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realization kicks in.
> 
> Sebastian can't find his guns, or his knife. He can't find anything. The Italian bastard must've taken them for "safe keeping".
> 
> With that being said, Sebastian isn't stupid enough to try and get out of these restraints without a weapon handy. 
> 
> Maybe he'll just humor him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10!
> 
> So, I've decided on another fanfic idea after this one is finished.
> 
> An AU where Stefano does web cam shows, and Sebastian is trying new things ;)

When the realization hit Sebastian, it felt like a brick. No, that wasn't accurate enough. It felt like he was being stoned with the truth, and that made his skin feel cold. Made his hands grow clammy. How could he have not realized it before? 

 

The man's weapons were gone. His holsters were empty, and much lighter now. The lack of weight there frightened him, but he refused to let that show on his face. Instead, he used that fear to help channel anger. It wasn't hard. The thought of the artist fiddling around with his things,  _while he had been unconscious_ , pissed him off royally. 

 

"Where the fuck are my-"

 

"I have your weapons, detective. Is that what you were about to ask? Please, you can't honestly expect that I would let you keep them, can you?" Stefano paced around him slowly, studying his features like a predator studies its prey. 

 

"You conniving..." 

 

"Please explain to me, detective, which part of this was conniving? I am honest, yes? I suppose in  _your_ world, the things that I am doing are seen as harmful, immoral, or illegal, yes. I suppose that may be the case, but are you not aware that this place is above the rules of those in charge down there?"

 

"What are you going on about now?"

 

"Tsk. Detective, what would you have done with your weapons had I let you keep them?"

 

Sebastian didn't answer for a long while, and he glanced up toward Stefano.

 

"You would have attempted to take my life for your own? You would have spilled my blood, again, had I let you."

 

"Maybe I fucking would. You're sick. You kill people for your own enjoyment," the brunette growled through clenched teeth. 

 

"But, detective, how does what you do make you better?"

 

"What?"

 

"You act as though I have not seen what you are capable of. Did they teach you how to murder efficiently in the force," Stefano mused, and smiled toward him. 

 

"..."

 

"My thoughts are that you seem to know how to kill rather quickly, rather successfully, and you've learned those things on your own. You've retained them. Here you sit, detective, and you have murdered the innocent people of Union with a knife that I have given you. With guns that the corpses of others murdered have given you."

 

"No, those things...they're not people. Have you fucking seen them? They're monsters..."

 

"They are people. They were people. You have no second thoughts about killing them, you just do. You go with the flow, per se."

 

"Stop fucking comparing me to you, you fucking bastard!"

 

"Hmm, you are only like me in that you can kill, can deliver a deadly blow like a cobra, but your body language is all wrong. You want to act nonchalant, but you are terrified," the artist spoke leaning closer, his face a few inches away from the detective's, and he inhaled deeply.

 

"I can practically smell fear radiating from you, mingling with your pain. It's...orgasmic," he whispered before pulling away, adjusting himself, and turning to glanced at a painting on the wall. Sebastian stared at him, face two halves shock, and one half disgust.

 

"There's something fucking wrong with you."

 

"Is that all you know how to say?" 

 

"...I'm not like you," Sebastian managed to mutter.

 

"Of course not," the artist let the vowels drag on longer than they should have, and a smile spread across his pale lips. "But you like the destruction regardless. Part of you despises it, yes, but you notice that part growing smaller with every passing second, every hour, and every day until you know that it will be no more."

 

"You speak like someone that knows this from experience."

 

"I do."

 

Sebastian looked at the ropes digging into his wrists, and then felt the weight of his empty holsters. It all left a sour taste in his mouth, but he wasn't stupid enough to try and escape without anyway of defending himself. Perhaps he would give the Italian what he wanted. If he could convince him he was like him, maybe he'd get out of here in one piece. He racked his brain for something useful to say, something to possibly push the subject in a direction he wanted it to go. He needed the power.

 

"You never told me why you started killing."

 

"Ah."

 

"I explained to you why I wanted the Core."

 

"Yes, because she is your daughter. I remember."

 

"Well, quid pro quo, right?"

 

"Yes, that is correct. You wish to know why I began killing? Such a strange question, but I will humor you. Why does one begin killing, according to what you've learned?"

 

"What?"

 

"A serial killer, as you call them...what traits do they share?"

 

"They're mostly made up of narcissistic bastards that think they can have what they want, when they want it."

 

"No, no, no. I meant deeper than that. What makes them become this way?"

 

"...normally family trouble, I think. Some of them are just born fucked up."

 

"Family trouble, ah, yes. I can't tell you whether or not I fall into that category because I do not remember much about my family. Clearly, I had one. Clearly, I was born. I do not remember my mother's face, or my father's voice. I remember nothing."

 

"You can't remember them?"

 

"No, I can't. It's as though they never existed," Stefano replied, trailing off. He stared off to the side, Sebastian noted. 

 

"What do you remember," he asked to pull the artist's attention back.

 

"I remember joining the military."

 

This surprised the detective, and his eyes widened slightly. 

 

"I remember reading something about that, I think," he replied. 

 

"Reading? What did you read," Stefano questioned curiously.

 

"Some interview. You explained your eye, but that's about it."

 

"Hmm...what happened to my eye then, detective?"

 

"I'm not sure. You weren't specific." 

 

"For good reason."

 

"Are you going to explain it now?"

 

"I suppose," Stefano replied, and tapped his chin with a gloved finger. He looked up toward the ceiling as he thought. Sebastian could faintly see the pale skin of his neck peeking out from underneath the crimson scarf that he wore in a Parisian knot.

 

"So..the military?"

 

"It was full of swine. I did not realize that. I was young, stupid, and I wanted to make a change, I think."

 

"You didn't like it?"

 

"Oh no, at the time I did. I photographed the bodies of the dead. That was my task. I don't recall liking that aspect of it, but I did my job. I liked the rewards, the benefits perhaps. The military has quite a few, but they hand them away to the morons that run the show."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yes, they put too much faith in the imbeciles to guide them."

 

"What happened to your eye?"

 

Stefano hesitated briefly, but Sebastian noticed.

 

"I can't recall exactly...but something exploded near me. I don't remember what it was. A mortar, or a grenade. Whatever it was, it riddled my body with shrapnel. I remember lying there, unable to move, and I thought that was it. I thought I was dead. Then, I woke up in some cheap cazzo's office."

 

"They left the shrapnel in?"

 

"They informed me that they could not remove it, detective."

 

"Why?"

 

"I can't remember."

 

"Can't, or don't want to," Sebastian asked.

 

"Can't remember."

 

"You told the interviewer that it still hurt."

 

"Yes, it does occasionally throb. It is hard to forget that it there. Every time I get close, it reminds me." 

 

"Is that why you started killing," the detective questioned. Stefano remained silent, and let his exposed eye fall closed.

 

"Have you ever wanted to be beautiful? You wake up and try every day to look your best. You want to be an artist, so you must fit the part. Then, suddenly, this tragedy strikes and knocks you down a few pegs. You look in the mirror every morning afterwards, and you see this ugly thing staring back at you. It has your face, but it is wrong. It looks wrong, and it will never be beautiful. The military let me go. I was a liability at that point, you see. My depth perception was gone. It took some time to get used to, but they couldn't risk keeping me. I was a danger to myself, and to others," Stefano explained with a soft chuckle as though the thought was funny to him.

 

"What'd you do after that?"

 

"My only skill was art. That was my passion, my goal. I could only pursue it, but for the longest time it seemed like every photo I took was garbage! It never came out how I wanted it to, but the passion was burning through my veins. It was all I could do. Eventually, I found a job photographing models. You have seen the news reports, I'm sure."

 

"You started killing models...why? Were you jealous of them? Were you trying to preserve them, or something?"

 

"They were beautiful, detective, but they weren't perfect. There was only one moment in time that could make someone both beautiful, and perfect simultaneously."

 

"What moment was that?"

 

"The moment directly before their death."


	11. Serial Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top five common traits shared among serial killers include:  
> 1\. They are power hungry  
> 2\. They are manipulative  
> 3\. They enjoy bragging about their crimes  
> 4\. They are charming  
> 5\. They are an Average Joe, an ideal person at first sight
> 
> In most cases, serial killers describe their childhoods as being traumatic consisting of various types of abuse. In most cases, the abuser is the mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11!
> 
> I should be listening to my World Religions teacher!

Sebastian Castellanos, having been a detective at the KCPD, has dealt with his fair share of serial killers. Krimson City seemed to lure them like flies to shit. He'd seen some pretty disgusting, pretty grisly sights in his time on the force, but he didn't want to think about them now. According to Hoffman, serial killers had similar traits, things that made them able to be grouped together under the description "psychotic". Despite that, they were very unique. While the individuals may have acted similarly, or might have said similar things, each had different motives for killing, and varying ways of accomplishing that. 

 

Stefano liked to believe that he was making artistic masterpieces, and Sebastian nearly pitied the fool.

 

The Italian wanted to believe that he was an artist, and maybe he was at one point in his life, but was that fact still true? Could he really call himself that?

 

The detective frowned at the thought.

 

He never wanted to be beautiful, never really cared abut art, but he could remember waking up every morning and feeling disgusted for different reasons. 

 

_He woke up and couldn't recognize the face staring back at him in the mirror._

 

_"It's your face, but it's all wrong."_

 

Sebastian understood what the man meant, and it made him feel uncomfortable. There's no way that he could relate to this serial killer. Stefano was insane.

 

But, the same had been said about Sebastian numerous times. Who was right?

 

No, Stefano wasn't right in the head. He couldn't decipher between his delusion, and the reality that was presenting itself to him. He thought that everything was fine. He thought that there was nothing wrong in what he was doing, didn't view the lives lost as once belonging to human beings, and he didn't seem to care that they were dying because of him. He was just another killer with some twisted ideal. 

 

_"Did they teach you how to murder efficiently in the force?"_

 

Sebastian couldn't recognize his own face. He was nothing but the shell of his former self. He woke up every morning trying to decide if it was real, or if he was back in Beacon. Was he really any different than Stefano?

 

He killed to survive.

 

Perhaps in Stefano's book, he was doing the same. 

 

_"I don't want to talk about Lily, Myra. Why can't you just accept that she's gone?"_

 

_"Flesh...less malleable than clay, but softer than marble. It really is the perfect medium."_

 

_"Daddy! Look what I drew!"_

 

_"I swear! I'm not making this up! Why won't you believe me, Sebastian!?"_

 

_"Do you realize how crazy that sounds?"_

 

Nothing made sense anymore.

 

_"The moment directly before their death."_

 

The brunette looked around the room, and frowned when he noticed he was alone. How much time had passed since his last conversation with Stefano? It was empty, or so he thought. He was sure the putrid camera was tottering around like a zombie, or any of Stefano's other pets were wandering about in the darkness that swallowed him. The spotlights became a refuge. 

 

Still no gun. 

 

Where the fuck did the Italian run off to?

 

Had Sebastian blacked out?

 

He couldn't remember the last couple of minutes that passed. Was he losing time? How long had he even been here?

 

This place made him feel psychotic.

 

The soon he got Lily, the better. If he couldn't handle the horrors he was seeing, there was no doubt that she couldn't either. There was only so much a person could take. Even a brave little girl.

 

And Myra...

 

He didn't want to think about that right now.

 

"The world outside is a disaster, no?"

 

Stefano's voice made Sebastian visibly flinch. When had he come in? Dammit, the detective couldn't see him. The artist always somehow managed to get the jump on him, no matter how attentive he was. 

 

"Is it?"

 

"It seems you've angered him."

 

"Who?"

 

"I believe you call him Father Theodore. He enjoy to view himself as a God."

 

"Yeah, we've become acquainted."

 

Stefano chuckled and approached Sebastian slowly. He was holding a wine glass in each hand, and smiling proudly. 

 

"I'm aware of what I did to upset him, but what ever is your story?" 

 

Sebastian said nothing for a long while.

 

"This place is full of psychopaths," he muttered under his breath. The artist's grin only widened. The brunette watched the other set the glasses aside. 

 

"This place offers many opportunities for the sane, and insane alike. When a place such as this exists, even the innocent are corrupted," Stefano explained.

 

Before Sebastian could say anything, he was interrupted by the familiar moaning of Obscura. She was dragging a chair over noisily. He watched the disgusting thing in awe, brows furrowing as she neared the light. Her joints seemed to click and grind together with every single movement that her legs made. 

 

Stefano didn't move his eyes away from the other's face, even as Obscura let out an excited chirp. 

 

"Thank you, my beautiful Obscura."

 

Seeming content with that, she lifted herself up onto the ceiling and disappeared into the darkness. Slowly, Stefano took a seat in the chair, eyes still on Sebastian's face.

 

"Unfortunately, there was nothing decent in the bar. No one here has good taste in wine, but it would be a waste..."

 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

 

"Do you drink, detective?"

 

"More than I should," he mumbled in response before he could stop himself. Stefano let out a soft chuckle.

 

"You attempt to solve your problems by drowning them in cheap liquor?"

 

"You don't fucking know me..."

 

"Hmm, not well. I'm beginning to understand you, detective. You lost your daughter somehow, hence why you're here. You're trying to make things right once again."

 

"Shut the fuck up."

 

"Feeling like a horrible father, you began to ache. The only thing that seemed to dull your pain was the bottles you purchased at a local bar."

 

Sebastian jerked his body forward angrily, nearly knocking the chair over. Stefano laughed as though it were a humorous sight to witness. 

 

"Damn you," the brunette swore through clenched teeth.

 

"Did you sleep there too?"

 

"I'll kill you if you don't shut your fucking mouth. You don't know anything!"

 

"I would argue that I know quite a bit, judging from your reaction."

 

Sebastian's body was trembling and he wanted to wring the Italian's neck. 

 

"Fuck off..."

 

"Would you like a drink, Signore Alcoholic?" 

 

"I'm not accepting anything you have to give," Sebastian snapped aggressively. He glared toward the suited man, and the man shook his head in amusement.

 

"Suit yourself."

 

He watched the other pull the cork out of a bottle of white wine. He was tempted to accept the offer, and bit his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. Sebastian deserved a drink of hard liquor after all the bullshit he'd been through, and although wine wasn't exactly what he had it mind it would do.

 

"Would you prefer piss water, signore?"

 

"What?"

 

"You do not like wine?"

 

"I never said that. I don't like you," Sebastian replied.

 

"Do you need to like someone to accept their gift?"

 

"I don't trust you."

 

"I am drinking from the same bottle that I am offering. Poison is not a beautiful way to die. It ruins the art, and is hard to capture correctly," Stefano explained slowly, and crossed one leg over the other. He watched Sebastian's movements with keen interest.

 

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

 

"You worry too much. Are you positive you don't wish to drink with me?"

 

"How would I fucking do that? You gonna let me go?"

 

"I don't trust you," Stefano mimicked, smiling. He slowly lowered both feet onto the ground, standing from his seat. Light glistened off of his unsheathed blade, and before Sebastian knew it the sharp edge grazed the skin of his arm, kissing it softly. The ropes wrapped around one of his wrists fell to the floor. 

 

"I am faster, yes? Don't try anything stupid. I assure you, I will kill you."

 

"Give me a fucking drink, and shut up."

 

 


	12. Wine Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drink of wine turns sour. 
> 
> Why do these things always happen to Sebastian?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Chapter!!!
> 
> Things getting a little...weird.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4_vEs0r2Z4
> 
> EDIT: INSTEAD OF RED WINE, THEY HAVE WHITE.

Sebastian wasn't quite sure what exactly he was drinking, but he didn't care much for specifics. He never bothered with what kind of beer he was pouring down his throat before, as long as it worked the way he wanted it to. The cheaper the better in his mind. He wasn't made of money, but that hardly stopped him from wasting what he had.

 

Stefano was studying him closely, and it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Italian quietly sipped from his glass. His eyes reminded Sebastian of ice, of winter, and they felt equally as cold. He tried to avoid looking into them, but felt them burning holes into his flesh. 

 

"What the fuck are you staring at?"

 

"I thought that was quite obvious."

 

"What?"

 

"You are absolutely filthy," the artist explained with a soft laugh.

 

"Am I really? I wonder why that is."

 

"Hmm, no. Even before the blood, and the sweat stained your clothing, you were filthy. Do you not know how to bathe," Stefano questioned. 

 

"You son of a bitch..."

 

"Is that not a common trait among alcoholics? Please educate me if I am wrong," the Italian replied with a superficial smile plastered onto his face.

 

Sebastian didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, he downed the rest of his wine to suppress the need to make a witty remark. He looked around the room, and his eyes landed on the artist's blade. It was lying on a small circular table that rested next to the man's chair, beside the bottle of wine. He hadn't noticed the table before. It hadn't been there last time he checked, but that wasn't a surprise. This place had a way of making things appear at random.

 

But if that were the case, why did the Obscura need to bring Stefano his chair?

 

Bastard wanted Sebastian to know she was there, lurking. Of course, he loved to show off.

 

"How do you expect to enjoy the little things in life if you can't take the time to appreciate them?"

 

_"Appreciate the art."_

 

The detective peeled his eyes away from the table's surface, and glanced toward Stefano.

 

"I don't expect anything."

 

"You are very peculiar," the artist said slowly, eyeing his face curiously. 

 

"Because I don't give a shit about it?"

 

"La semplicità è l'ultima sofisticazione. Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication, according to Da Vinci."

 

"What the hell are you going on about?"

 

"Let me think...it is like 'God is in the details', or 'the Devil is in the details'. You have heard those sayings before, yes? Appreciate the details. You miss out when you pay attention to nothing but yourself," Stefano explained after a moment. 

 

"What about you? You're a selfish prick, and you're a fucking hypocrite."

 

The Italian clicked his tongue in thought.

 

"I am not selfish, detective. I create art. Art requires a bit of selfishness, I suppose. To determine what I want to create, I must be selfish, but I must notice the details that do not relate to me in order to create something beautiful. You have a daughter. You have created life, have acted as your own God, but you do so for selfish reasons, of course."

 

"I didn't start a family to benefit myself, you fucker."

 

"No? You had sexual intercourse because you wanted to feel good. You wanted to make love, to show that you loved your wife in a carnal way."

 

Sebastian's brows furrowed and he started at the artist. Stefano took his glass from him after setting his own aside, and let out a low chuckle before pouring him another drink. 

 

"So, I suppose we are both selfish then."

 

The brunette acted quickly. While the artist was preoccupied, he managed to pry his other hand free of its bindings. He shoved his arm forward enough to grab the man's knife off of the table. 

 

Sebastian heard the wine glass crash against the floor, shattering on impact, and he felt the wine splash onto his shoes. Stefano reacted faster than he'd predicted. The man's gloved fingers wrapped around the blade in an attempt to pull it from him. 

 

The detective jerked the knife away from him, slicing through the fabric and eliciting a hiss from the other. 

 

Stefano recoiled quickly, and Sebastian took that opportunity to point the tip of the blade at his neck. 

 

"You made me break a glass. How cruel," the Italian spoke nonchalantly as he eyeballed his hand. The brunette's eyes narrowed as he watched him.

 

"Don't move. If you send that fucking thing after me, I'll kill you," he threatened through clenched teeth.

 

"You drew my blood, detective," Stefano muttered. He sighed before biting one of the fingers of the glove, holding it between his teeth as he carefully peeled it off of him. His blood was smeared across his palm, a bright contrast to his pale skin.

 

Sebastian looked around quickly to make sure Obscura wasn't in sight before returning his attention to Stefano. He analyzed his movements and frowned.  He knew the Italian was faster than him by a long shot. Stefano could move out of harm's way if he really wanted to, but he remained still and stayed put. That made the detective feel uncomfortable, but he held the knife closer to his throat regardless. 

 

"What do you hope to accomplish," Stefano questioned. He held his hand over the glass of wine resting on the table, watching as each drop spread scarlet throughout the white.

 

It reminded Sebastian of the corpse with her clean dress stained by her own blood.

 

Sebastian watched the blood drip from the wound, and he studied Stefano's face. The artist didn't seem bothered by anything going on, and that angered him.

 

"I was enjoying our conversation," Stefano chuckled.

 

"You're sick."

 

"I am in perfect health."

 

The wine was becoming a disgusting shade of pink.

 

"I should kill you..."

 

"Have we not been down this path before?"

 

"I won't fail this time," the detective snapped, eyes falling on the man's neck. He watched the artist swallow.

 

"Did you fail last time?"

 

"Don't fucking toy with me, dammit. I killed you last time. I fucking know I did. This place makes no sense. You should be dead!"

 

"Is that what I'm doing? Toying with you," Stefano mused thoughtfully. 

 

"You know what you're doing!" 

 

"Are you not the one pointing the blade at my jugular? You are becoming hysterical."

 

"I'm not fucking hysterical. I know what I'm doing."

 

"Are you disturbed that I am not moving away from you? I enjoy this game. You wish to drive my own knife into my throat?"

 

Sebastian didn't reply.

 

"Are you not a killer like me?"

 

"I'm not," Sebastian managed to mumble.

 

"How can you say this while you are aiming a weapon at an unarmed man?"

 

"Cut the crap. You know you're dangerous, even without a weapon. Don't give me that half assed bullshit!"

 

"Then kill me, and replace me. You shall make me your art."

 

Sebastian hesitated briefly and tightened his grip on the handle of the blade.

 

"I'm not like you..." Before he could shove the knife forward into the other's neck, one of Obscura's blades pierced through the skin of his shoulder from behind. He gasped in shock and the man's dagger fell from his hand, clattering to the floor. 

 

Stefano calmly kicked it away, and carefully picked the remaining wine glass up off of the table. He approached Sebastian with it in his hand. "Ah, my darling Obscura. Look at what you've done."

 

Sebastian's blood dripped off the tip of her knife in a steady rhythm, and Stefano caught a few drops of it in the glass. It danced around the wine, mingling with his own blood, and staining the glass a darker shade of pink. 

 

He brought it to his own lips, taking a small sip and letting out a sigh. Sebastian watched him, black dots swimming around in his vision.

 

"Like the Blood of Christ, dear detective."

 

Sebastian let out a pained groan, and his vision blurred momentarily before refocusing on the artist. The camera was letting out horrendous sounds noisily from her place behind him and he heard his heart pounding inside his ears. The blade was protruding from his skin, crimson soaking through the fabric of his shirt. 

 

Stefano smiled, and Sebastian squinted toward him. He was seeing double.

 

"Stefano..."

 

"Say my name again."

 

"Fuck you..."

 

Stefano chuckled and took another drink of the blood mixed wine. He held it in his mouth, gripping the other's chin and leaning closer. His lips pressed against the detective's, and he pushed the liquid into his mouth with his tongue. Sebastian gagged, and tried to jerk away from him, but moving proved to be too much of a challenge. 

 

The drink dripped down the corner of Sebastian's chin, and he blacked out. 

 

_"Daddy, look what I drew..."_

 

_"Sebastian?"_

 

_"Sebastian!"_


	13. Sangue di Cristo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's terrorized my psyche to get even  
> Lately you're the only human I believe in  
> I tried to understand his logic  
> But there's just no pattern there
> 
> No sympathetic voices anywhere  
> There's blood in my hair  
> Now I'm considered ugly from every angle  
> You're the only beauty I don't want to strangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary based on lyrics from "We Will Commit Wolf Murder" by of Montreal.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRjf1B5sDYw

_"Sebastian! Are you there?"_

 

Sebastian's eyes slowly opened, and his surroundings were blurry. From what he could make out, there was only darkness above him. Maybe trees? He heard a faint voice calling for him, but he couldn't wrap his brain around where it was coming from. A groan escaped his lips, and he tasted blood on his tongue. He squinted as he tried to remember what happened, but he gave up on thinking and let his eyes fall closed again.

 

_"Look at you, Sebastian. How can you stand living like this?"_

 

_Sebastian didn't reply. He looked around the room to find where the voice was coming from. His eyes fell on his partner._

 

_Joseph Oda sighed, and set the other's pack of cigarettes back down onto the desk with a disappointed look. "You're smoking yourself to death. If the cancer doesn't kill you, the alcohol will."_

 

_"What does it matter?"_

 

_"I care about you, Sebastian."_

 

_"It's not getting in the way of my work, is it?"_

 

_"Not yet, but I need to know that you have my back out there."_

 

_"I don't talk about this right now."_

 

_"You never want to talk about anything," another voice interrupted. He looked away from Joseph to see Myra standing beside him._

 

_The wallpaper in his new home was beginning to peel to reveal the veins pulsating underneath._

 

_"Myra, please...."_

 

_"You always avoid your problems," his wife muttered, and looked away from him. She'd been crying. He saw that her cheeks were irritated, and he reached for her._

 

_"Your avoidance is what got everyone killed."_

 

_"No...Myra, please. I believe you," he shouted as she started to walk up the stairs. She was leaving again. When he tried to run after her, he was stopped by spikes protruding out of the walls._

 

_They looked like thin knives, and blood was dripping off of them. The wood was soaking it up._

 

_"You attempt to solve your problems by drowning them in cheap liquor," another voice chuckled. Sebastian looked off toward the side, and Stefano smiled at him._

 

_"You son of a bitch! What did you do?!"_

 

_"Why do you blame everyone else for your shortcomings?"_

 

_"I don't...I don't! You don't fucking know anything!"_

 

_"Feeling like a horrible father, you began to ache. The only thing that seemed to dull your pain were the bottles you purchased at a local bar."_

 

_Sebastian tried to grab the Italian by the scarf, but instead he stumbled forward. The artist was nowhere to be seen._

 

_"Sebastian, you don't understand," someone was saying._

_"No...no, this doesn't make any sense," he mumbled, trying to decipher where he was. His eyes fell onto a woman._

 

_"Kidman?"_

 

_"I have to do this..."_

 

_"Do what? What the hell is going on?"_

 

_Juli Kidman shook her head, and looked down at the gun she was holding. She didn't say anything for a long while before she aimed the pistol toward his head._

 

_"Kid...?"_

 

_The sound of the shot was deafening._

 

_Joseph fell to the ground._

 

_"It's your fault."_

 

_Everything was falling apart around him, and Sebastian lost his footing. He was falling, spiraling out of control. A concrete floor broke his fall after what felt like forever, and he let out a pained cry. The steady rhythm of something dripping drew his attention to it and made him look up._

 

_Blood fell onto his face, and his eyes widened in shock._

 

_Stefano was standing in front of him with a smile. He was holding a porcelain plate full of human eyes. Each eye was a different color, and had a toothpick stabbed through it vertically like some sort of elegant appetizer. He slowly lifted one of them to his lips and he watched Sebastian as he slowly plucked it off with his teeth._

 

_"A rare delicacy. Like the Blood of Christ, dear detective."_

 

_Sebastian was bleeding. Blood soaked through his clothing, and stained his hands. He panicked._

 

"Sebastian! Hello?"

 

The detective woke up to hear the familiar spark of static from his communicator. He glanced around, and realized that he was lying on grass. He was outside, in an area he didn't recognize. He couldn't remember how he got there. He tried to move, and was greeted by a sharp pang tearing through his shoulder. 

 

"Fuck..."

 

He slowly reached over, patting at the ground until he found the device. He brought it close to his face.

 

"Yeah? I'm here."

 

"Are you alright," Kidman asked. Her voice was the only thing that made sense right now.

 

"I don't...I'm not sure. Jesus, this place is fucking insane. I can't tell what's real and what isn't..."

 

"What happened?"

 

"I...Stefano's alive, Kidman. I don't know how. I fucking killed him. I know I did."

 

"He's...what? He's alive? Are you sure?"

 

"Yeah, I'm sure...I had a little bonding time with him."

 

"Are you sure you're alright?"

 

"I'm as fine as I'll ever be, I guess...confused, but...in one piece, I think," Sebastian uttered. His tongue felt swollen and heavy, and he tried to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.

 

"Sebastian, be careful."

 

"Yeah..."

 

"Try to stay in touch," she replied.

 

He checked his holsters, thankful to feel his guns. He hadn't imagined that, had he? It was too specific. There was no way. He pulled his pistol out, and gripped it tightly.

 

It would be his only saving grace.

 


	14. In The Eye of The Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And from their veins flows the essence of life in which grants me everlasting happiness. Embedded within their screams can be found a symphony. From the reflections in their eyes, I learn what could be, and what is. And with their bodies, I am finally able to reach my full potential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJ2j46YPa7w
> 
> Chapter 14!
> 
> Another fanfic idea: Role reversal!

A caterpillar typically took fourteen days to shed its chrysalis, and to grow into something far more beautiful than what it was. Caterpillars reminded Stefano of human beings in a way. They never found their true potential, never showed their vibrant colors, unless provoked. Of course he had to do all of the work, like only a real artist could.

 

The pain was necessary to help them realize that they were alive, and that they wanted to continue living. The sad tragedy was that they always realized too late.

 

"Urh..."

 

Stefano glanced up slowly, and looked at his Obscura. She was rocking slightly forward, and he hummed quietly in thought as he studied her elegant design. He fancied her the most. She was his most prized possession, as of right now. He had other plans, but wasn't sure how to approach them. 

 

"Do you think I have made a mistake, my dear?" 

 

The camera groaned in response, but she wasn't responding to anything, at least not intellectually. He shouldn't have given her vocal cords. The Italian smiled briefly before glancing down at his hand. Both of his gloves were lying on a table that sat a few feet away from him, resting beside his knife. He'd picked it up off of the floor where the detective had dropped it a few minutes prior.

 

Stefano let out a curt sigh when he saw the condition of his wound. His skin was bare and split open to reveal the flesh that lay underneath. Pink and raw. It reminded the artist at first of a naked woman, and her beauty.

 

_She wouldn't stop screaming, so he shoved his rag down her throat._

 

_"I can't concentrate with your noise. Be quiet, and hold your tongue before I do it for you."_

 

_Her eyes widened, and she writhed desperately._

 

_"You will be a beautiful masterpiece..."_

 

His pale skin was stained with his blood in a strange contrast, like an abstract painting. What had once been a rich shade of scarlet had dried into an unpleasant hue of brown. 

 

"How disgusting it looks now. Blood is always best when it is fresh," he chuckled to himself. Obscura moaned again, but he tuned her out as he raised his hand to his lips.

 

His teeth grazed the scabbing of the wound and he bit down, peeling the flesh further apart. He drew blood once again, sucking on the injury with a soft groan as his life stained his lips and flooded his mouth.

 

"Do you think he thinks about me? I truly hope that I am his new fear, his new nightmare." Stefano lowered his hand, and his tongue trailed across his bottom lip slowly. Obscura tilted her camera to the side, like a dog, and she made choking sounds. He smiled.

 

"I wish to be the reason he experiences true pain, and enlightenment."

 

Stefano slowly approached the table. He picked up the glass, and sipped what was left. The detective's blood danced with his, like a marvelous matrimony. Mixed until they became one. They were connected more than the sweet detective knew. Stefano had eyes everywhere, and Sebastian wouldn't get away from him. Not easily.

 

He set the empty glass back down, and looked straight ahead toward Sebastian's vacant chair.

 

"My beautiful moth. I have spared you, given you time to flee, but I will find you. It will be amusing to see how long you can last."

 

_Stefano always enjoyed the sound of cracking bones, and the popping it made. It spread through him pleasantly, and he knew that when he heard it he was doing something right. A true artist had to endure struggles, and had to make sacrifices._

 

_Ah, and the blood. It smelled sweet. When he got it on his face, he'd lick away what he could. It always tasted sweet too, like copper, like iron. It was fun to watch the writhing bodies, and the women's tear streaked faces. They always offered the same things, always said the same things, and it wasn't interesting to Stefano._

 

_The human body contained amounts of very valuable elements._

 

_He wouldn't let any of it go to waste._

 

* * * * * *

 

Sebastian knew how the fucker did it. He knew how Stefano was still alive and kicking. Sebastian must've missed something vital when he shot the bastard through the chest, but that didn't explain why he looked unscathed when he saw him. How long had it been since he killed him? That was just another thing added to the list of shit he didn't understand. 

 

The brunette knew what happened, or at least he thought he did.

 

After talking to Kidman, Sebastian tried to look through his belongings for anything to help stop the ache that was spreading from his shoulder. It was driving him crazy and he knew he wouldn't last long if he didn't get it patched up.

 

For the most part, all of his things were where they should've been, and Sebastian worried that he imagined the entire encounter with Stefano. Maybe it was only a result of being stressed, and he was worried that the worst possible scenario would occur, and his mind tricked him into believing that it had.

 

But, he didn't imagine it. 

 

He knew that now because his first aid kit was missing. The Italian must've taken it when the goddamn camera caught him off guard. What else did he take? Sebastian frowned at the thought, and shook his head. He had everything else, and he could craft another first aid kit later. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that the snobby fuck went through his shit, and  _put his hands on him_ while he was unconscious. It was the only explanation that made any sense, but it wasn't as though this place hadn't confused him before with its impossibilities.

 

Stefano walking around in one piece could be another impossibility added to the list of unfeasible. 

 

Either that or Stefano used his first aid kit to get his wound taken care of.


	15. A Game Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are mine to do with as I please. 
> 
> Isn't that a bit selfish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late Halloween. I meant to have this chapter posted on the 31st, but I forgot my notes!
> 
> Hope you forgive me!!!

_Sebastian Castellanos woke up dangling from a meat hook, or at least that's what he thought it was. He didn't care about the specific details at that moment because his skull felt like it was being split open with a dull blade. All he knew for certain was that he was upside down staring at a filthy floor, the blood was rushing to his head, and the world around him smelled absolutely godawful._

 

_First glance around told the detective that it was dark. The lights were dimly lit and it took his eyes a while to adjust to their surroundings. Second glance around showed him mutilated decomposing bodies hanging around him, and he nearly puked when he saw how the skin was being eaten away by rot and how it looked as though it was becoming soup (like putrid bodies often did)._

 

_He couldn't tell what the floor was made of , tile or wood, because bodily fluids were coating it like icing on a cake. He didn't want to breathe, and he was trying desperately not to panic. He held his breath until his lungs felt like they were going to burst at the seams, and he was forced to inhale hastily through his mouth. He could practically **taste** the disgusting scent that lingered in the air. The smell of rotting flesh, blood, and puss made tears spring up in his eyes. _

 

_Sebastian knew that he had to get out here, but he had no clue where_ **_here_ ** _was. He forced himself to take another look around the room, and his eyes landed on a knife that was driven into some unfortunate guy's flesh. If Sebastian swung his body with enough momentum, he might possibly be able to reach it._

 

_Biting his bottom lip in concentration and ignoring the pounding in his brain, he shoved his body forward and desperately reached for the handle of the blade. His fingers grazed it briefly, but he wasn't close enough to wrap them around it. He grunted in exasperation, and tried again. He needed it. Needed to cut himself loose before the worst possible outcome happened. Was he going to be gutted like a pig? Jesus, he hoped not. His hand brushed against the knife and he managed to get a grip on it._

 

_He sighed in relief as he pried the blade out of the body, but that hardest part had yet to come. Glancing up, he saw the rope attaching him to whatever the hell he was attached to, and he had to somehow get up there. Shit, he wasn't nearly in enough shape to handle this._

 

_Grunting once more, he strained and tried to slice at his restraint. After the fourth attempt, he cut through it and collapsed onto the floor. It knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping. The scent of death flooded his senses, his stomach clenching in warning, and he felt his head spinning from the fall._

 

_After a moment, he picked himself up off the ground and tried to figure out the next best course of action. He needed to get out of this place. The distant roars of a chainsaw left him feeling hollow._

 

_There was no way he was going to make it out of here alive._

 

* * * * * *

 

Sebastian had been through hell and back before, so he was sure he could manage this time around. He often thought about Beacon, and now he was sure he'd get out of this place and think about Union in the same way. Dreading it. Having nightmares about it. Drinking to forget it. 

 

He just hoped that Lily didn't have to live that way. 

 

He didn't want to think about how she might be feeling, how horrified she must be. It left a sour taste in his mouth, and made him clench his gun a little tighter. He didn't want to think about what she saw, or what she was going through. Those fucks on the other side were using him as a puppet to fetch his own fucking daughter for their experiments. They should be in here, suffering. 

 

But, he stopped. 

 

There were Mobius agents in here that were left behind to suffer, disposable ones, and most of them were okay. They were trying to help him. Sure, they weren't the good guy, or maybe they weren't in the beginning, but what were they now? 

 

And Kidman...?

 

Sebastian wasn't sure about her. She'd lied to him in the past, but for some reason he didn't think she was lying to him now. She had no reason to, right? If he caught on, wouldn't he just refuse to help her? To help  _them_? But then again, it was his daughter being bartered. 

 

He just wasn't sure what to think.

 

Thoughts of Beacon were constantly flooding his thoughts. Comparisons were constantly coming to mind. He was noticing things that he didn't want to notice, but maybe was stronger for it? He supposed he should thank Ruvik for that at least, for making him practically immune to this bullshit. 

 

God, he just wanted a drink.

 

He wasn't immune, and he knew that. He wasn't plagued by Union like he had been Beacon, but Beacon left a stain on him that he'd never be able to wash off. 

 

_"You are mine...to do with as I please."_

 

Just another psychopath in a lineup of many. He didn't know what to think, and if that wasn't bad enough he still had Theodore to take care of. Theodore, Stefano, and whatever the hell Myra had become.

 

He remembered how she desperately dragged Lily away from him. 

 

_He remembered how she desperately pleaded that Lily was still alive._

 

Nothing made sense.

 

Stefano was obsessed for him, out for his blood or something, and Theodore wanted to be worshiped like a God. He wasn't a God because gods couldn't be killed by bullets and Sebastian was damn well sure this bastard could be. 

 

He'd pop one right in between his fucking eyes.

 

He was thinking about Beacon now, about the bloody floors, and rotting wallpaper, the hospital rooms that were always empty. That nurse always said that she was busy, that she had other people to tend to, but it was like a dream within a dream within a dream. 

 

Frankly, he wasn't sure what she meant, still wasn't.

 

He wondered how many people had died because of Mobius. If he stood in the middle of Union, and counted, how many...? 

 

Sebastian sighed, and counted his ammunition for the thirteenth time. It was becoming a tradition, a habit, but maybe it was a habit that would keep him alive. He hoped so, at least. He'd need to craft more soon, but he was running low on scraps too. Pretty soon he'd have nothing, and nothing wasn't good when someone like Stefano was on the loose.

 

Nothing wasn't good at all.


	16. Hour Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it, you can never get it back."
> 
> -Harvey Mackay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16! 
> 
> Chapter 17 may come out today as well. I have notes for it!!

_Blood dripping down from the ceiling sounded an awful lot like the beginning of rain._

 

_Sometimes, when Sebastian heard it, he'd close his eyes and imagine that he was asleep at home with Lily and Myra. It would be storming outside, but he didn't mind. He was safe inside with them._

 

_Yet, whenever he thought about things like that he was always interrupted by the flames._

 

_They ate everything quickly, spreading through the memories, and he just burned his hands trying to save anything from their cruel embrace. Flesh smelled like bacon when it cooked. Flesh melted when the fire was hot enough, and the bones would desperately try to survive._

 

_Sebastian always lost everything in the end._

 

_There was no more happiness to cherish when it came to thinking about that time. Reality, and this place had that in common._

 

_Nothing happy there._

 

_Nothing at all, but ashes._

 

_The blood smelled horrible, and flood his nose. It crawled down his throat, and choked him. If the flames didn't consume the happy times first, the stench did. No amount of pretending, or imagination, would rid him of it. It hung heavily over his head like some sort of storm cloud waiting to crack._

 

_Holding his breath only helped for so long, because he still had to breathe. The air around him tasted of nothing but rot and death. He wondered often if he would be one of the bodies added to the long list of missing persons' names._

 

_**Missing: Sebastian Castellanos...**  
_

_**Age...** _

_**Weight...** _

_**Height...** _

_**Appearance...** _

_**Last seen wandering through a hospital mindlessly...** _

_**Is something wrong with you?** _

_**There are ghosts here, Sebastian, and they live in the walls.** _

 

_There was no way out of this place. The hallways were always endless, always looping. He'd push against locked doors, and searched aimlessly for a key that didn't exist. The floors were floors, and then they were walls, or ceilings. He didn't understand where he was._

 

_Nowayoutnowayoutnowayoutnowayout_

 

_And Joseph?_

 

_Kidman?_

 

_Were they dead?_

 

_It was his fault._

 

**_It's all your fault._ **

 

* * * * * *

 

Did the sky ever change up above? 

 

Sebastian wasn't sure, but it always seemed so dark. Perpetual night plagued this place, save for the few fires he saw burning like the North Star. His flashlight was barely big enough to suffice as a sufficient lighting source. 

 

He'd been wandering around without a clue of where to go, and the communicator was dead save for Kidman's voice if he asked for it. It felt like an anvil, weighing down his every step. How long had he been walking around without a goal in mind? It reminded him of how he was after ever bar trip. Every beer left him feeling more dead than alive.

 

He was dead, wasn't he?

 

Just like everyone else here.

 

Just like Joseph.

 

And Lily.

 

Except Lily was alright now. Or as alright as she'd ever be. 

 

**She's alive.**

 

**She's suffering, and it's all your fault.**

 

Sebastian had woken up near the theater where he'd confronted Stefano. He had no doubt in his mind that that's where Stefano wanted him to go, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to risk running into him again. 

 

He wouldn't confess that the thought terrified him.

 

Sebastian was mortal. He was a bag of flesh and bone, a meat sack, and while Stefano might've been one as well, it sure didn't feel that way when standing before him. The detective wasn't saying the bastard was a God, because he wasn't, but even Sebastian had to admit that he wasn't evenly matched. If he got cocky, if he told himself he could kill the fucker  _and succeed_ , he'd guarantee his own death. 

 

He wasn't about to sign that contract. 

 

But, with that being said, he recognized that Stefano was an issue that needed to be dealt with eventually. 

 

For now, he'd avoid the theater. 

 

The artist hadn't been joking when he said that the world was running wild. Theodore had released his minions, allowing them to wander around, to look for Sebastian no doubt. The fuckers were hard to kill, and hard to get around, but if he wavered his bets he'd say sneaking was the best option. 

 

He couldn't risk getting spotted.

 

The area around the theater was fairly untouched, and Sebastian wondered if that was because Stefano was lingering. The creatures, did they stand a chance against him? Even Stefano could burn. But, then again, why hadn't Theodore taken care of Stefano himself? Was he afraid of him? Or was he just lazy?

 

Sebastian didn't know. He wasn't sure, and he couldn't say he wanted to find out. Theodore seemed to enjoy fucking with someone's psyche, and Sebastian had had just about enough mental games for one day. 

 

Honestly, all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

 

It took him a while of searching to find what he'd been looking for. A safe house, with coffee that was hot enough to pleasantly burn his throat as he chugged it down. He hadn't even been sure it was what he was looking for it, but he had a way of stumbling onto things when he wasn't trying very hard. He slammed the door closed behind him as he entered the room, and quickly locked it. 

 

The familiar singing of the mirror echoed throughout the place.

 

He approached it slowly.

 

* * * * * *

 

_Joseph Oda always had Sebastian's back, and Sebastian never had his. He'd been right, of course. The smoking, the drinking, it all interfered with work. He knew that, but he wouldn't stop._

 

_Sebastian was a selfish piece of shit. He never bothered to ask about anyone else's day, and swallowed down bottle after bottle to forget about his._

 

_Joseph._

 

_**"Because you weren't strong enough to move on, everyone you loved died."**   
_

 

_I'm so sorry._

 

_Myra was his other half, his life, his smile. Lily was his sunshine. When they both disappeared, the cracks began to form._

 

_Joseph always had a way of looking on the bright side. He was the glue that held together Sebastian's pieces, but the cracks continued to spread._

 

_Without Joseph, he began to shatter._

 

_He was useless._

 

_**"Say it again."**   
_

 

_I'm useless._

 

**_"I've waited so long to hear you admit that..."_ **

 

_Admitting it would never bring Joseph back, and it would never save anyone. Sebastian couldn't even save himself._

 

_"Sebastian, you need to stop this. You're killing yourself."_

 

_"It's my choice, Joseph."_

 

_"...I know that losing Lily was hard. I get that. I understand it...but this...this isn't going to bring her back."_

 

_"You don't know anything, Joseph."_

 

_"Myra was worried about you. She was right, you know. You're obsessing over your work, and you need to go home and rest."_

 

_"I can't..."_

 

_"...Seb."_

_"Joseph, no. I can't. I can't sleep because I just...I can't think about anything but the...the fire. I can't turn off my brain, and it just haunts me. I should've been there..."_

 

_"You had no way of knowing what was going to happen, Seb."_

 

**_I should've been there._ **

 

**_I wasn't._ **

 

**_And now you're dead._ **


	17. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obsession is essential to creativity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has had me stuck! I apologize! I'm still here! 
> 
> WARNINGS:   
> Necrophilic thoughts  
> Fantasizing  
> Masturbation

It was a strange feeling to say the least.

 

The silence that lingered in the air used to be reassuring, and it used to be the perfect environment that allowed Stefano to work in peace. There were no thoughts clouding his subconscious, and he could easily sculpt what he wanted. 

 

Now, he was drawing a blank.

 

The lack of coherent thought left him unnerved, and confused. The only thing fluttering around in the fleshy muscle that was his brain was the image of Sebastian's shocked expression as his rubies splattered onto the artist's floor, soaking into every crack and pore. The taste of it was delicious. He longed to have it on his tongue once more, lingering inside his mouth, longed to have his tongue pressed deeply into the flesh of the man's shoulder. 

 

"Mmrr..."

 

Obscura's grunts drew his attention away from the beauty that was the scruff, filthy detective, and he glanced toward her. He'd never craved anyone so desperately, and she could tell something was wrong with him. 

 

_No one wants you anyway._

 

But could he change Sebastian's mind? He was a blank canvas, easily broken, easily shaped. No, it didn't matter that much. Sebastian was like an art piece, wasn't he?

 

You look, but you don't touch.

 

_No one wants to touch you anyway._

 

Stefano let his eye fall closed and sighed softly as he imagined the man. The fear that radiated off of the detective was arousing, made him feel hot. Made him feel loved. He'd admit that all he truly wanted was a willing audience to admire his work, his magnificent art that he'd spent time and energy on. 

 

Sculpting the flesh into the perfect shape, modeling it into the perfect position.

 

Goddammit, was Sebastian better breathing?

 

But his body would be priceless. 

 

But his pain was...art all in itself.

 

Stefano basked in it. His choked sobs, his begging. Beautiful. Obscura teetered slightly, and Stefano hummed in thought. He couldn't think with her crowding him, and her noises. 

 

_Why did he give her fucking vocal cords?_

 

"I believe this game is truly driving me mad."

 

He'd originally left Sebastian lying outside of the theater for the hopes that the chase would be fun, and would bring him much needed entertainment. He thought he was a step above the detective, but it turned out that he was the one that wanted to crawl back. Desperate little writhing...

 

The thought of touching his blood, his body.

 

The creatures that wandered around this place were ugly. There was nothing he could do to fix them except let them die like miserable slobs. Death wouldn't free them, or make them art. They would be hideous no matter what he did.

 

But the detective's skin was scathed in all the right places.

 

He opened his eye.

 

"Leave me, my darling Obscura. Keep an eye on him..."

 

The camera leaned forward before stomping to show that she understood. She paced in place a few times before she tottered away noisily. He cringed as he listened to her joints click and grind. 

 

The room was his now. 

 

He sighed, and relaxed onto a bed. There was cracks in the ceiling up above him, and he imagined dragging his finger over them. Like the cuts in flesh, would their blood begin to flow? He crossed one ankle over the other, and listened to the sound of his breathing. He remembered the detective's breathing as he slept, as he was plagued by nightmares that Stefano didn't cause, and that thought frustrated him.

 

The man's pain, the man's undoing...it should be his doing.

 

_Screaming, crawling away, desperately trying to get away from him._

 

_They can't run because there's nowhere to run to._

 

_Where have you gone?_

 

Stefano inhaled sharply, and squeezed his eye closed. He focused on the black that corrupted his sight.

 

_**'What are you thinking about, my beautiful detective? Do you think of me...'** _

 

_No one wants to think about you anyway._

 

_No one wants to love you anyway._

 

Ugh, but the detective was so perfect. His skin against the muscle underneath. The dirt, the sweat, his natural scent invaded Stefano's nostrils, and he wanted to breathe him in. He'd come back, yes. He would, even if the artist had to drag him back himself.

 

The taste of blood was so delicious. 

 

Stefano let out a breathy groan, and shifted. His vibrant blue eye looked toward the ceiling again. He was going crazy thinking about all of the horrible things he would do to the man when he got his hands on him.

 

_Break his bones._

 

_The cacophony of his screams, like music to his ears._

 

_His blood would taste exquisite on his tongue as he lapped it up off of his busted flesh._

 

The artist slowly unbuttoned his pants, and pulled them open. His breathing grew quicker as he slid his hand into them. He paused, and studied the cracks once more. 

 

There would be no going back if he did this. 

 

No going back if he thought about the filthy, disgusting thing that was his detective.

 

His.

 

Yes, that sounded right.

 

He gently bit his bottom lip, and closed his eye. He didn't care. The detective would be his eventually, and he'd trap him. He'd never let him go again. He would stay, and he would learn to love it with him. He would love the art. His fingers were cold against his skin, which made him jump slightly. He'd forgotten that his gloves were off, but he didn't want to worry about that now. He wrapped his hand around his cock with another groan.

 

_He's screaming in pain, and he is swearing in that filthy way he does. He's threatening Stefano, but they both know he's powerless. He's writhing as Stefano's blade kisses his skin, and draws blood like rubies bubbling up from past its fleshy curtains. He's bleeding more as the artist sinks the knife into his body. He wants to fuck him with it, but he knows that it'll kill him. It's hard to suppress his urges. He likes to watch it drive deeper, disappearing into flesh, dyeing itself scarlet._

 

Stefano stroked himself quickly as he thought of the man, and he shuddered. Quick breaths escaped his lips, and he tightened his grip slightly. He felt a sharp pain spread through his hand, and he smiled.

 

_After he dies, his body will be perfect. It'll be beautiful. Stefano slides his hand along the butchered flesh, and he leans closer to bite into it. It tastes delicious, and he presses as close as he can. He needs the friction against him, and he bucks his hips desperately. The heart's long since stopped, but the body's still warm. Stefano drags his tongue through the mutilated flesh. Like a woman's body, like her cunt, so soft. So warm. He groans, and he intertwines their fingers._

_Noonelovesyounoonelovesyounoonelovesyou._

 

Stefano grunted as the pain shot through his hand, and he stroked faster. His head was spinning. He could see Sebastian's face behind his eyelid, could hear his voice. He wanted to feel him, wanted to taste him.

 

_Sebastian's body can't run from him._

 

_It'll stay with him forever._

 

Stefano let out a gasp as he came all over his hand. His body jolted as the sensation ran up his spine as though it were a lightning rod. His heart was racing inside his chest. He was alive. He stroked himself slowly through it, and let out a loud sigh. After the initial ecstasy passed, he carefully pulled his hand out of his pants. 

 

It was covered in cum, and blood.

 

The wound was leaking again.

 

He brought his palm to his lips with a smile. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was good!


	18. Picture This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. It has taken me way to long to post this. Depression, and school, blah. Excuses! I forgot, in my time, the canon game, so um...well, it's not like I've particularly run with canon, so. Fuck it!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyqWjl7GkCE

_Jesus wept._

 

_Death was an enemy, attempting to reign terror over his people. It was successful, of course, as Adam and Eve had granted it power when they had bitten into the Forbidden Fruit._

 

Stefano could only imagine how delicious it must have tasted, its nectar flowing past their lips, flooding their mouths, dripping down their chins.

 

_Sticky, yet sweet. Too sweet to behold._

 

_Jesus wept when he discovered Mary's brother Lazarus had died._

 

_Jesus was of flesh, and blood, walking down among the evils of the world. The pain, the tragedies, the blood. He would suffer them all. The emotions that were so very human, and made the mind weak._

 

_"I am the resurrection," Jesus had explained to Martha, another sister of Lazarus, "and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet he shall live. And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me shall never die."_

 

How was it then that Stefano stood now, breathing, feeling pain, but alive? How was it that he'd been graced once more by the gift of freedom?

 

He wasn't foolish, though arrogant at times. The second chance could be the only chance he would ever get, and wasting it seemed not to be an option.

 

Stefano had failed once, but he was quite aware that he couldn't make the same mistake a second time. How pathetic an artist he would seem if he showed incompetence, and how them see him as incapable. 

 

The canvas was still fucking blank.

 

_Empty._

 

He couldn't think.

 

No Sebastian.

 

No anything.

 

Everyone was already dead, and disgusting to look at. He couldn't redeem THAT.

 

Stefano eyed the ivory surface of the canvas, running his fingers over the coarse material. It caused goosebumps to rise along his skin, such a pleasant feeling under different circumstances, but right now so horribly unwanted.

 

Where was his muse? 

 

It felt like ages since Stefano had let the man slip through his fingers, and the lack of a game was driving him mad. Without something to preoccupy his mind, and the lack of beautiful creations to construct, he thought about undesirable things.

 

How could he have been so stupid? With a sigh bordering on frustration, the artist closed his eyes and tried to recall something.

 

_Eyes like rivers made of chocolate, yes. Strands of hair such a dark shade of brown, nearly black, and bandaged fingers running through them._

 

An agitated breath broke concentration. His eyes opened, and he was staring at this artless white.

 

The face faded away into nothing but a blur, too far to reach for.

 

He had called the man ugly, and perhaps at one point he'd believed that to be true. Now, he wasn't quite so sure, and it terrified him.

 

The feel of it all was exhilarating. Sebastian was his Forbidden Fruit.

 

He longed to bite into him.

 

_The thought of blood pouring down his chin, down his throat, flooding warmth through his cold lifeless veins, giving him newfound life. They shared blood once already. In some cultures, they would be considered wed. In some cultures, they were viewed as one._

 

_Those exuberant eyes staring into his. Even with disgust, or anger, those eyes looked through him, gazed upon him honestly. He didn't pretend like everyone else did._

 

In that moment. Stefano decided. 

 

He needed those eyes alive.

 

He needed them right here with him.

 

An idea came to his mind, and he smiled softly. His eyes never left the canvas.

 

* * * * * * 

Sebastian opened his eyes, and stared up at the ceiling fan that twirled noisily overhead. It had its set routine it could never stop, but God did it sound painful. Like cracking bones. 

His muscles screamed at him as he shifted, and made a move to sit up from his place on the safe house's couch. Perhaps that wasn't a good name for what he was lying on. It felt as though he'd slept on a concrete slab. 

And still, no fucking progress had been made. 

Lily was out there somewhere, scared and trapped with monsters that didn't give a shit that she was just a little girl. He knew that, and he wasn't going to let a little discomfort stop him from bringing her home. He shouldn't have fallen asleep, but he'd just collapsed. 

  
Time had been lost. Now he'd have to make up for that by running twice as fast.

  
He'd bring her home.

  
The Italian bastard was another complication added to a growing list. Sebastian couldn't deny that, but he had other things to worry about.

 

He couldn't stop thinking of past mistakes, and the thought of remaking them was tearing him apart. He'd failed Myra, and then he failed Joseph. He thought Lily was gone. He wasn't going to lose her now that he knew that wasn't the case.

 

The coffee was bitter, burning his throat on the way down. He set the mug down a bit rougher than he'd intended, and swore when the hot liquid splashed onto his hand.

 

_"She's doing really well, I think...learning quickly."_

 

_"That's great. She's a real smart girl," Sebastian replied, and smiled as Myra sat down beside him. His coffee tasted perfect, but it always did whenever Myra made it. He couldn't ever seem to get it right. She knew him better than he did._

 

_"She's outgrown most of her clothes."_

 

_"We'll have to pick her up some more then. We can go shopping this afternoon. Today's an early day..."_

 

"Sebastian?"

 

"Oh? Hoffman. Hey."

 

"Are you alright," the woman asked, setting a file down and watching the man. Her brows were furrowed in what he could only imagine was concern.

 

"Yeah, fine. I'm fine." 

 

"You were zoned out. If you need to talk..."

 

"I know. I need to get going. Where can I go to get off this rock?" 

 

"...there should be a terminal..."

 

 * * * * * *

Hours ago.

 

Where was he now? 

 

Wandering, helpless. Now, the communicator was silent. No one, not even Hoffman, seemed to be answering his calls now. It was becoming annoying, but still, he couldn't prevent the uneasy sour feeling that burrowed itself into his gut like a clawed hand just digging. Sebastian couldn't tell the time by the look of the sky. He couldn't tell where he was by the look of his surroundings. 

 

He couldn't find this damned terminal. 

 

He had been wandering for what felt like hours, legs throbbing, but he pushed on nonetheless. He would have to in order to find Lily, and she was his top priority. 

 

So many problems. 

 

Theodore fancied himself a God.

 

Stefano fancied himself an artist. 

 

A bitter thought came to mind, and he swallowed it down. His throat tasted raw, as though he'd consumed acid. Sebastian came to a stop at a building he felt he'd seen five times already, and he stared at it with his brows knitted together. The bricks reminded him of dried blood, and the air smelled heavily of rot. He had wasted most of his ammo on pathetic creatures trying to taste him, ducking out of the way on constant onslaughts. 

 

These things used to be people. 

 

_They aren't people now. You've gotten really good at killing._

 

He recognized the building suddenly, stomach dropping. It was the hotel where he'd encountered Stefano. How the hell did he end up here? 

 

A shriek nearby told him that he should move, should get out of view, but the only place to go was closer to the glass windowed doors. Sebastian pushed them open, and reluctantly slipped inside. They closed silently behind him, but he heard the ring of a bell somewhere in the lobby. 

 

Light reflected off of something in front of him, and he instinctively reached for his gun. His heart was pounding in his chest, playing the drums in his ears, as he slowly relaxed. 

 

There was nothing here. 

 

The reflection was coming from a picture frame resting on a desk in front of him. The check-in desk, where they would make reservations or ask for the keys.

 

He lowered his arm away from his pistol, and approached the desk with long-legged strides. As it neared it, the sour feeling returned with a punch that nearly knocked him off his feet. Sitting on the desk, he recognized that photo.

 

It was a family picture he'd taken before Lily died, no. Before she was taken from him. 

 

Before she'd ended up here. 

 

She was smiling a smile that could melt snow, standing in between him and Myra.

 

Myra's face had been scratched out, revealing only the white of the photo paper underneath. It reminded Sebastian strangely of a scab...healing. Made his blood run cold. 

 

Scabs were formed to keep unwanted things out of the body.

 

A picture of his family, the family that made him cheerful, and it was damaged. Sitting in a place like this. He knew who to blame, but how had he gotten it?

 

This place was fucking with Sebastian's head. 

 

He reached forward, and quickly pushed the frame face down.

 

"Oh my."

 

The voice, the Italian lilt, made Sebastian turn quickly but he saw nothing. The hotel's doors were swinging as though they'd been pushed open. He stared with narrow eyes before feeling a sharp pain jab into his injured arm. 

 

He saw red, and a gloved finger was pressed into the wound on his shoulder. There was a bright flash. It was quickly pulled away, and there was a warm chuckle behind him. It seemed wrong. Sebastian's head was spinning. 

 

"I missed you."

 

When he turned around again, the artist was gone. A photograph of Sebastian's face replaced him.

 

"You bastard. Running again?" 

 

He tilted his head up to catch a glimpse of Stefano standing on the stairs. 

 

"Am I running, detective," the Italian called out cheerfully, "I would say that you are. From your problems, from the problems you must face. You are afraid to admit what you've done wrong, and therefore it cripples you. You blame yourself for everything that's happened, as though you alone can shoulder that blame. The arrogance. The pride. Those are your sins, but the things that happened?" 

 

The artist clicked his tongue in thought. 

 

"Who knows." 

 

He was walking up the stairs, camera and knife in hand.

 

"Your pain...is beautiful, though you're incomplete." 

 

Sebastian followed him up the steps quickly, watching his retreating back move farther and farther away, higher and higher as he continued to walk. 

 

"Tell me how to get out of here," Sebastian shouted. His voice echoed. 

 

"If you wished to get out, you would, yes?" 

 

"Damn you. Don't fuck with me. What are you doing?" Sebastian had slowed to a stop, and he was staring up at Stefano who was now facing him, camera aimed toward him. 

 

"Admiring the view."

 

"Fuck you."

 

Stefano sighed in annoyance, and slowly began to walk back down the steps toward Sebastian. The man held his ground, eyes narrowed dangerously. His fingers twitched, eager to grab the pistol and to shoot.

 

"We have a common enemy, you and I."

 

"You mean that bastard Theodore," Sebastian questioned bluntly. The Italian hummed in reply.

 

"I have been thinking that perhaps we can help one another. He wishes to find your daughter as much as you do, and therefore will attempt to stop you. You, dear  _Sebastian,_ are a force of nature that cannot be stopped. I admire it."

 

"Get to the fucking point, Stefano."

 

The artist's trembles were able to be seen, and Sebastian frowned.

 

"I love when you say my name. So full of disgust. Theodore, the  _God,_ needs to be brought back down to Earth. Perhaps you can assist me in knocking him off his throne?" The gloved finger slid up Sebastian's neck, making him lift his chin. "It will be worth your while."

 

"I can't trust you."

 

"No, you can't. That is a valid statement, but you wish to see your daughter again, no? There are things here that you cease to understand. You could use my help," Stefano whispered the last words, leaning closer to the man. He took a step down, and stared up toward the Italian.

 

"I only ended up here by coincidence, not because I care about working with you."

 

"You ended up here, Sebastian, because I wanted you to. I have seen you through Obscura's lens. I have been dreadfully lonely, and void of ideas. You inspire me to do great things, great pieces linger. You would not understand, but I can offer you help."

 

"What would you get out of it? What's the fucking catch?"

 

"I would like you, perhaps?"

 

"Like hell you will."

 

"Shh. Think not with your mouth, for once. Think before you  _speak._ You are a man with a gun, and your gun has limits. You have limitations. I was cocky, and I underestimated you, but you do not understand what Theodore is capable of. You can't handle this on your own. All I ask if that you give yourself to me."

 

"And then what? Hope that you keep your word? Hope that you don't harm my daughter? You're too unpredictable." 

 

"Unpredictable..." Stefano didn't argue, eyeing him for a moment. He stepped down closer to Sebastian, lips near his ear. His breath was warm against the other's skin. 

 

In fluent, song-like Italian, he recited:

 

"Rapisca, ti prego, o Signore,

l’ardente e dolce forza del tuo amore,

la mente mia, da tutte le cose che sono sotto il cielo,

perché io muoia per amore dell’amor tuo,

come tu ti sei degnato morire per amore dell’amor mio.

 Amen."

 

It took Sebastian a moment to realize what had happened, and his knowledge of Spanish helped him pick up the meaning of a few words. He wasn't sure what was just said to him, and his face must have conveyed that because Stefano laughed. 

 

"Did you just  _pray_ for me," Sebastian asked, astonished. 

 

"Not quite." 

 

The detective didn't like that.

 

"What the fuck was that?"

 

"It was a prayer, yes, but originally intended for God. An Italian prayer, but I do not expect you to know what I said to you. Should I tell you?"

 

The question was rhetorical, but the smile on Stefano's lips made Sebastian want to say no anyway.

 

The Italian thought to himself for a moment, took a breath, and then recited the English equivalent of the prayer:

 

"I beg you, Lord,

let the fiery, gentle power of Your love

take possession of my soul,

and snatch it away from everything under heaven,

that I may die for love of Your love

as You saw fit to die for love of mine.

 Amen."

 

"Why would you say that," Sebastian questioned, though more out of uncertainty than anything else.

 

"I will keep my word that your... _daughter..._ will not come to harm, if only you agree to these terms. I will help rid you of your troubles, perhaps even offer protections, and all I ask for in return is your time. Think on this, and I will see you soon."

 

The man's lips grazed Sebastian's cheek before he vanished into bright blue light that reminded Sebastian of an ocean.

 

Sebastian felt as though he'd be making a deal with the devil.

 


	19. An Eye for an Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing left in Union, not for Stefano at least. All the fun has come, and gone. The only interest he has is trying to run where he can't reach him. Perhaps something should be done about Union. Perhaps, it has outlived its usefulness.

How would on describe vividly the scent of rot? Not only rot, but the decay of bodies piling to the dark sky above, littering the streets, and alleys. All that could be seen every which way were the corpses that Sebastian had contributed to, and the stench made his eyes water. He was almost certain that it was tangible, that it could wrap its deadly fingers around his throat and squeeze until it crushed his trachea. He would choke on his own blood, gasping for air as liquid filled his lungs.

For some odd reason, Sebastian pictured the face of Death to belong to one eccentric Italian in particular. 

No.

Sebastian needed to get to Lily, needed to shield her fro this world and the ghastly sights it had on display in its Macabre Museum. He stepped over bodies lying in the road, avoided looking at their contorted expressions of pain.

God, where would he even start?

If he had eyes everywhere...

He knew someone who did.

 

No. 

Sebastian's stomach dropped to the soles of his feet as he thought of that snide smile, of the offer left dangling above his head like a guillotine's blade. His mouth felt dry, but nothing could reassure him anymore.

He couldn't deny that Stefano had a knack for finding things.

If he wanted to find Lily alive, or find her at all, Stefano could do it. 

But, the bastard was a conniving piece of shit.

 

A thought occurred to him. He'd dealt with the artist before, and though he doubted the Italian was one to keep his word, he knew most if not all of his tricks.

Sebastian halted his movement, and listened to the air. 

A shutter closing, a chuckle.

A trick of the wind? 

He looked over his shoulder, saw nothing but the hotel in the distance and the sea of death that separated him from it. 

Help could be found in unlikely places, and despite the Italian's clear lack of remorse for past crimes, Sebastian realized the benefits he'd offered and he couldn't doubt that.

 

Of course, there were pros and cons to this alliance. For starters, what Stefano wanted in return for helping Sebastian was his life.

 

It was a heavy price to consider paying, but weighing his life against Lily's made it seem worthless. Lily had so much time left to live, so many things left to experience, and if he couldn't make it out of here, he'd made sure she did. 

 

Stefano could be the minute decision that saved Lily's life. He could be the split second she needed to get out of this hell alive.

A brief hesitation passed over Sebastian before he pivoted on his heels, and hurried back toward the hotel. He'd been wandering for a few hours, and it seemed that this place was the only obvious destination in his mind.

Lily's life was more valuable than his.

Any help was all he needed. If Stefano tried anything, he'd wring the bastard's neck.

 

Truthfully, he hated the thought of getting the artist involved, but he had little other choice, and very little leads to work with.

 

* * * * * *

Each step pressed down against Sebastian's shoulders as though an anvil, threatening to cripple him with doubt. He continued nonetheless, trying to push away the persistent feeling that he'd made a mistake.

It was too late to back out now. Judging by the stillness of the air, and the overbearing silence, Stefano knew he was here.

And he was waiting.

 

The detective glanced up toward the top of the stairs, only a step or two away now. He persevered. The ache from the exertion faded from his mind as he watched a door ahead open, welcoming him in with open arms.

A bitter memory infected his thoughts, reminding him of the first time he'd been here, waling down the twisted halls, the endless passageways that had a start but no end. Everything seemed so straightforward now, as though each path was leading him along until he'd reach his destination.

  
Last time he'd been here, Stefano hadn't had time for his antics. He was busy creating his 'artwork', though if his eagerness to have Sebastian in his hands like clay was an indicator, there wasn't a lot of creating happening now.

  
More doors, one after another, luring him deeper into the corridor of hallways, and crimson patterned walls.

 

 It was Stefano's favorite color, if Sebastian recalled correctly.

 

"You have come to pay me a visit? It has only been a few hours since last we spoke, and yet you return."

 

  
The words echoed off the wallpaper, off the wood underneath them, from no discernible location. They held a hint of mockery, as though the Italian was calling him a failure. Sebastian's jaw clenched.

 

  
"I could leave you to your artist's block then," he replied dully.

 

Stefano materialized in front of him then, reaching out for him quickly Sebastian grabbed the extended arm, twisting it behind a lithe back, and he shoved the artist's body against a nearby wall, pinning him in place with his own form. 

 

Stefano's free hand clawed at the wall, grappling for purchase. He inhaled sharply. 

 

"If we do this, we do it my way, Stefano," Sebastian growled into the man's ear.

 

"Oh, yes, do take advantage of me. I need that," Stefano breathed softly, a tremble running along the railroad tracks of his spine.

 

"I mean it."

 

"I do as well..."

 

"What the hell is wrong with you," Sebastian asked in disbelief, watching the nape of the Italian's neck with his brows knitted together.

 

"I have missed you terribly. I don't think I have ever been affected in such a way, by a living thing."

 

"What the fuck? Are you suggesting you get off on dead things?!"

 

"Are you suggesting I 'get off' on you, detective?"

 

"I didn't suggest-" 

 

The conversation took an abrupt turn when Sebastian inhaled Stefano's scent.

 

"I smell blood."

 

"Blood?"

 

"Are you bleeding?"

 

"Perhaps," Stefano replied slowly, though he didn't seem phased by the sudden knowledge.

 

Sebastian's eyes trailed down to the wrist he was holding tightly. 

 

"Is it your hand?"

 

"My hand?"

 

"The one I cut open."

 

"Oh. Yes, I suppose it is. It often bleeds when I want it to, to concentrate if you will. Does the cut I gave you ever bleed? Let me see it."

 

Sebastian felt the artist squirming against him, and suppressed a gasp as body pushed close to body.

 

"Stefano."

 

" _Please let me see it._ "

 

"God, would you stop fucking moving?"

 

The detective reluctantly released the man, and braced himself for what might occur. He felt the cool leather of gloved fingertips pressing against his brow, a sharp sting spreading across his skin as though Stefano's touch was made of flame.

 

"Ow, shit."

 

"Had circumstances been different, would you have held me in your arms while I was dying...?"

 

"No," Sebastian replied all too quickly. A thought invaded his conscious, a memory of dying colleagues, of Connelly, of Joseph, and the pain it created felt as though an ice pick was being jabbed forward through the faces between his ribs.

 

Stefano must have noticed how fast Sebastian had answered, must have noticed how quickly he shut the question down, but he said nothing more a while.

 

"When I first joined the military, it had been because I was told that pursuing my dream of becoming an artist was a waste of time. Perhaps, at that point in my life, it was, but it did bring me joy to create beautiful things.

 

Stefano gingerly stroked the skin around Sebastian's cut. The action was soft, careful, and it was something Sebastian hadn't thought the artist capable of.

 

"Often I think of how things may have turned out different had I failed to join. The expressions of disappointment on my parents' faces would have been the same nonetheless, no matter what I did, but perhaps I sacrificed an eye unnecessarily."

 

"What happened to you after that? Your eye, you told me about that. What happened then?"

 

"Ah, you read about that already, I'm sure. I can't remember what they called me on the news, but it was exhilarating all the same."

 

"That doesn't answer my question."

 

"It is such an ugly thing to talk about," Stefano began slowly, seemingly hesitant. Sebastian couldn't remember ever hearing his voice strain, but in that moment it seemed to crack under its own weight.

  

"I've already seen the damage done. I've already read about it. Why not tell me what you think," the detective answered after a moment.

 

"Never mind that now. Have you come here to discuss the offer I've proposed," Stefano questioned, brushing off the topic on his eye. He absentmindedly touched his own hair, slid his fingers down the bangs covering his damaged eye, and lingered. 

 

"I have."

 

"What do you wish to say?"

 

"I told you. If we do this, we do it my way. If you can't agree with that, then you're a problem."

 

"What, pray tell, is your way," Stefano answered with a sneer. Sebastian could see he was sensitive about his eye, so he didn't bring up the attitude. 

 

"You're not going to hurt Lily. You're going to keep your word. We're going to find that bastard Theodore, and whoever else decides that Lily is a toy, and we're going to get her out of here."

 

"Oh?" 

  

"Then you can do whatever you'd like with me."

 

"This place was at one point a safe haven for my work. There were no restrictions, at least none that mattered. I was able to create things freely, whenever I truly felt I wanted to. Perhaps there is nothing left here," the Italian quietly stated in a matter-of-fact tone. He didn't expand of his words, and looked at Sebastian curiously. 

 

"I swear to you, on my creations, that I will help you in getting your daughter to safety, but I do expect you to keep your word, Sebastian."

 

"Yeah. You got me."


	20. Things That Strangle & Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where the heart is.  
> Home is dead.  
> The heart there has stopped beating.  
> Now, there is just silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. First things first, I am a horrible writer with seldom enough dedication to get through the day. I have to describe Sebastian's home, and I don't feel like describing vividly word for word something I have to rewatch. Therefore, VIVIDLY DESCRIBED THINGS MAY DIFFER FROM THE GAME! Just...please read before the interior decorating nazis come attacking me! 
> 
> If I don't post, it's because they've killed me for fudging
> 
> This was supposed to have sexy times in it, but next chapter kinda!

"Where are we going now," Sebastian questioned after being led through several unmarked doors he didn't recognize. That lithe back was facing him as the man it belonged to walked just out of arm's reach.

"A special place. I must admit. It hasn't been shown to many."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing, Stefano," Sebastian replied after a beat of silence.

His uncertainty was met with a soft chuckle which didn't help relieve his tension. A thought marched to the forefront of Sebastian's mind as he felt the sound reverberate throughout his form.

Maybe in another life they could have been friends.

 

"I am not escorting you to your death if that's what you are afraid of, and you were right about the God awful -what was it?- artist's block."

 

"Where are we going," Sebastian questioned once more, ignoring the nagging feeling in his gut telling him to run with reckless abandon.

Preferably in the opposite direction.

"A room, with a bed, and-"

"I can't rest now. Not when Lily's out there somewhere."

"-then we can discuss your daughter. Honestly, am I allowed to finish," the Italian teased, words lacking any real venom. Another breathy laugh escaped his lips.

"Stefano..."

"Sebastian, I do intend to keep my word, however unbelievable that is. I swear on everything beautiful art piece I have created. If I break my promise, may whatever power exists strike me down where I stand once more."

"I didn't take you for a religious man."

There was an awkward quiet that filtered in through the cracks. 

"I am not," Stefano answered slowly, "my belief in God ceased to exist after..."

He didn't finish that sentence, but Sebastian had a feeling he knew what was going to be said. He didn't push it, and continued to follow the other down a seemingly endless hallway.

 

"Have you ever felt a pain so intense that it infested your body, and you thought surely you had died? When graced with a sensation such as this, when no one comes to aid you, when you are left to die with only the sight of your own blood coating your skin to comfort you, well, you learn that there is no God, or perhaps, if there is, he had turned his back on you for some unknown past mistake. It truly is a horrible feeling to realize you are alone, and will always be."

 

Stefano's words caught Sebastian by surprise, and he could practically see the hurt dripping from them like blood from an open wound. 

Sebastian had reopened an old wound.

"I know what that is like," he said slowly, with measured caution.

"Do you?"

Stefano sounded...almost hopeful?

"Never mind that."

"One day, will you share your story with me?"

"When you do, Stefano."

"Ah, quid pro quo," Stefano replied mostly to himself. He considered something, but remained quiet.

 

"We're here," he added after a second, gesturing to a mahogany door. It had golden numbers on it that read:

  
21112

 

It didn't sound like any room number he'd ever heard of. When Sebastian tried to protest a finger was pressed firmly against his lips, successfully cutting him off.

 

"Let me do my job in assisting you, Sebastian, please. Rest assured that I will find your daughter, and I will do so quite quicker than you would be able to in your current state. The time you would have taken to search can be used, instead, to rest and recover."

"Stefano."

  
"You have suffered a great number of blows, and wounds have been inflicted on your body, some left by none other than myself."

 

* * * * * *

When Sebastian woke up, it took minutes for his vision to adjust to his surroundings. He wasn't in the hotel room where he remembered falling asleep, and that realization was enough to make him jolt out of bed. The sheets underneath him were white, clean, and wrinkled where his weight pressed in on them. There was something familiar about them that left an uneasy feeling in the pit of the man's stomach. Slowly, he looked up and took everything in for the first time.  


The walls of the room were covered in a storm cloud gray wallpaper, and a darker shade of the color was patterned across it in a rather elegant design he couldn't remember choosing. 

 

These were the walls of his bedroom, of  _their_ bedroom. 

 

There was a window with cream colored curtains to the left of the bed, and another wall with an off-white door to the right of it. The door led into a bathroom that he distinctly remembered to house his hair products, and Myra's. The door was locked.

 

In front of the window was a small table that the two of them used as a nightstand. It was a dark chocolate brown, matching the wood of the bed frame, and piled onto it was a lamp with no lampshade, a maroon purse, and a straw hat that Myra used to enjoy wearing to the beach. Underneath it, resting on the floor, was a white suitcase with leather straps. 

 

On the left wall, an abstract painting caught his eye. The colors were bright, and used to scream of happy times. Now, it just made this place feel more lonely. Below it sat a lonely a chair the hue of smoke. He remembered sitting there, and reading by lamplight while Myra showered behind an open door. He could always call out for her, to ask her things, to reassure himself she was alright, but the calls would be met with silence now. 

 

Turning his head away from the chair, he was sure he briefly saw someone sitting in it with one knee crossed over, but when he looked back it was as alone as ever.

 

Beside the chair rested a dresser that was identical to the table, and the bed. It must've been a set, but he couldn't remember. Another lamp, and various other things sat upon it. The dresser was next to a wardrobe made of birch, and another closet. 

 

As Sebastian sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to free himself of the panic beginning to set in, he saw himself in the mirror that resided on the vanity directly across from the foot of the bed, on the other side of the room. The sight of Myra's makeup left scattered across it, as though being used, made his heart sink.

 

Beside it was a coat rack.

 

It had one of her coats draped haphazardly over it. 

 

Another chair, a wooden one with ecru cushions, was pushed hurriedly into a desk beside the vanity, and the surface of it was messy with papers and pens of various shade.

 

Sunlight filtered in through the two windows, but did little to illuminate the darkness he felt looming over his head. He looked up toward the ceiling, which one might describe as a chandelier, or at least an attempt in one. It, like everything else in the room, matched.

 

_"I think this shade is a nice one. What do you think?"_

 

_"I think anything you want looks great, Myra. You have excellent taste. I personally like that one best."_

 

A couple of shirts were hanging off of white hooks that were identical to the door leading him out of here. Sebastian took one more look around the room as he approached the door. Everything was how it had been left.  
  
  
_"Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes on?"_

Wait.

 

_"A masterpiece!"_

 

No.

 

_"No! Look with your mind, _your mind,_ not your eyes. Eyes lie. Shh. Consider it abstract then, detective. What does it remind you of?"_

 

The Italian's voice rang throughout his ears, but this place was empty. It was dead, and no one, not even the Italian, deserved to be here.

 

Sebastian let the door close loudly behind him, and stood lost in his own hallway.

 

The door to Lily's bedroom was off to the side, but he couldn't bring himself to look it. He didn't want to look in, lest he see something horrible. Lest he be too late again, and again, and again. 

 

But, she was alive.

 

She was in Union somewhere, and Sebastian was supposed to be looking for her. How did he end up here?

 

He saw vibrant blonde hair disappear around a corner, heard footsteps head quickly down the stairs, and his heart fluttered. He recognized the hair, the pale skin of the neck, and he followed eagerly. Stomach slamming against the railing, he grabbed it with both hands and tried to get a glimpse of that familiar form.

 

"Myra!"

 

"Sebastian," a voice called out from below, "come here." 

 

"Myra?" 

 

His legs carried him down two steps at a time. 

 

_Each step pressed down against Sebastian's shoulders as though an anvil, threatening to cripple him with doubt. He continued nonetheless, trying to push away the persistent feeling that he'd made a mistake._

 

The silence was deafening.

 

_It was too late to back out now. Judging by the stillness of the air, and the overbearing silence,            knew he was here._

He was running down the stairs now, faster, as fast as he could go. Myra was there, waiting. She was waiting. He passed the photographs of a baby, of smiles, of happier times, and headed desperately to the kitchen. No one was there. No one was waiting. Everyone was gone. There was nothing left.

 

_WaWaittttttttingg._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_You never came back._

_Where did you go?_

_Did you really want to go home, after everything that happened here?_

_God, you're so desperate to right your wrongs._

_It's your fault, you know._

_If you'd only listened._

_tried to tell you._

_You thought you knew better._

_You thought       was mad._

_used to photograph the dead, you know?_

_Did you know?_

_Everything is dead here._

_Dead._

 

_Dead._

 

_**D a d ?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to know the room significance, read the link but do not tell anyone in the comments.
> 
> http://theevilwithin.wikia.com/wiki/Lily_Castellanos


	21. The Bitter Taste of Sweet Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep is as close to death as a living being can get without actually experience the stopping of their heart. Stefano thinks he likes Sebastian better that way, asleep. Not dead. 
> 
> Breathing. 
> 
> But, beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a huge author's note, then Archive decided to break. Didn't realize I needed to write those separately too. Ugh, whatever. I nearly quit. I was so angry. Here's another chapter, I guess.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3T8fEUyqmy8 --> for the good scene ;)

There is a thing to be said about happy moments in life, and that is that they do not last no matter how tightly you cling to them in a last ditch effort to keep them close. They always slip through the cracks between the fingers of squeezed fists, and they never forgive you for choking the joy out of them.

 

Loss. Grief. It makes you feel as though the walls are caving in on you. It's a feeling of hopelessness so profound that you don't know where it starts, or where to run to escape from it. The maze twists forever.

 

Sometimes people join you along the way, but they always seem to find the exit before you do. They all found the exit before Sebastian did.

 

Had it been under any other circumstance, perhaps he would have realized that Stefano was still trapped.

 

Right there with him.

 

They were in the same boat, floating down the same endless sea without a paddle or an oar.

 

The sky looked dark through the panels of glass that made up the windows of Sebastian's home, and the lights had died.

 

An empty feeling had staked claim to Sebastian's heart, and he sat at his kitchen table, utterly alone. Utterly devastated.

 

_it was over for him_

The man pressed the palms of his hands firmly against his closed eyes, an ache resting deep behind his corneas.

_SebastianSebastian_

_Are you truly alone?_

Sebastian lowered his hands from his eyes upon hearing a the sound of a click spread throughout the silence that had previously settled. He jerked his head up, and saw white illuminating the second floor, pouring down between gaps in the railing like rays of the sun peeking through closed curtains.

 

Quickly, he rose to his feet and winced when the chair crashed against the tile.

 

"Myra? Please, talk to me!"

 

He hurried up the stairs once more, muscles weeping as he pushed himself.

 

The light was coming from behind his bedroom door.

 

 _Wooooulddd_  
_youyou_  
_hold_  
_meeee_  
_iin yourrrrrrrrr_  
_arrrmsssarms_  
_while ii was dyyyyyyyyy_

When Sebastian tried the door, it felt as though it were made of weights and he had to push with all his might to open it.

 

He saw Stefano standing there, looking down at crimson stained fingers.

 

Blood soaked through the dark blue of an expensive suit, and dripped down a pale chin. The room smelled strongly of iron.

 

Theere is is nothing but death here.

 

"Ah, detective."

 

"Stefano, you're-"

 

"Perhaps it is my hand," Stefano replied with a soft smile.

 

"Jesus Christ."

 

"I didn't take you for a religious man."

 

"That doesn't fucking matter right now. You're getting blood on my carpet," Sebastian replied, trying to sound braver than he felt. He approached the bloodied man, and helped him onto the bed.

 

"Sebastian..."

 

"Stop talking."

 

Sebastian was fumbling with the buttons of the other's jacket, attempting to get the clothing off to assess the wound, but the buttons were small and slipped through blood covered fingers.

 

"Sebastian..."

 

"I said stop talking!"

 

"Under different circumstances, would you have loved me? Could you...?"

 

The question caught Sebastian off guard, and he paused his ministrations to look at the Italian below him.

 

"I don't know."

 

"I don't blame you."

 

Before Sebastian could say anything, Stefano leaned up and pressed their mouths together.

 

The Italian's lips were soft, warm, pushing insistently against his. He felt a tongue dart out, asking for entry.

 

He opened his mouth.

 

* * * * * *

When Sebastian opened his eyes, he first noticed that the room was nearly pitch black. The next thing he noticed was that he felt a heat pressed flush against his body, and there was a tenderness against his mouth.

 

_The Italian's lips were soft, warm, and Stefano was kissing him._

 

The detective's eyes widened, surprising bursting through him, and the sensation of Stefano's tongue brushing teasingly against his bottom lip made his head spin violently. He moved to push the other off him, trying to ignore the fact that this man was straddling him, but when he tried to move his arms he discovered that he couldn't move them past his head.

 

Stefano separated from him with a trembling intake of breath.

 

"What the fuck?"

 

"You're awake," Stefano replied quietly, though it didn't sound like he cared. He sounded almost high.

 

"What the fuck?"

 

"I seem to have made a mistake. I believe that I called you ugly once before, and while that may be true for some definitions of the word...I can't stop longing for your ugliness. I want you to be ugly to me."

 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"Hate me if you wish, but I need you. I crave you desperately, and I can't think until I've had you completely. You are everything. When I try to create, you are all I picture. I can't CREATE you."

 

Sebastian tilted his head back, eyes finding something dark wrapped around his wrists. His eyes had adjusted enough to recognize the sight of Stefano's scarf against his skin, blood red against oak.

 

"Can you untie me?"

 

"You'll hit me if I release you. I'm nearly positive on that. Perhaps you'll be cruel enough to aim for my face."

 

"Stefano, this isn't a fucking joke. We have to..."

 

"I never said it was a joke. You merely assumed," Stefano breathed against Sebastian's skin, leaning down so that their mouths were a mere inches apart, "I found your daughter."

 

His words were but a whisper, yet Sebastian wanted to scream. He could feel the skin of a finger tracing the outline of his jaw.

 

"Where is she?"

 

"Why do you never shave?"

 

"Stefano."

 

"Sebastian, let me have this. Don't speak about the child you had with some woman. Not now, but soon. I told you I would help you reach her, and I intend to keep my word, but please..."

 

Sebastian was growing annoyed with the man, though in the future he wouldn't be able to tell anyone if making Stefano's nose bleed had been on purpose. He'd jerked his head forward to look at him, action interrupted by the feeling of something hard as bone connecting with his forehead, and the Italian cried out.

 

Before either of them really realized what happened, something wet was dripping onto Sebastian's lips.

 

"Jesus," he shouted, the taste of blood flooding his mouth. He wasn't sure whose it was anymore, as he was sure he'd bitten his tongue.

 

"Ah, you're so cruel," Stefano whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sebastian glanced at him, the blood black in the darkness.

 

"Jesus," he repeated stupidly.

 

"You didn't have to actually hit me. I was only joking about that," Stefano muttered, and his eyes were lidded as he stared down at the man he sat on.

 

"I didn't..."

 

"If you wish to know, your daughter is with a woman that claims to have taken her home. She's in one piece, and I seriously doubt that she's in immediate danger. There is very little I can do with how the state of things are now. She's as safe as she needs to be before we go to retrieve her."

 

"The hell...? Stefano, we need to get her."

 

"We will. In time. We need to rid ourselves of Theodore first. If you truly think that you can find her, and remove her from this place safely with Theodore alive, you are sadly mistaken. As humorous as that sounds, I don't want your bones joining those in his dungeon."

 

"Are you not...stronger than him," Sebastian asked, watching a droplet of blood threaten to drip from Stefano's chin.

 

He remembered helping him into bed, trying to stop the bleeding he was certain he caused.

 

"I am flattered. I have never tried to fight him, only evade him. He was not worth my time."

 

"You're still bleeding."

 

"Oh, yes, detective. Your deductive skills."

 

"I didn't mean to...your nose...Jesus," Sebastian said quickly, and tried to move his arm to press something against the man's nose. He couldn't, and growled in frustration. 

 

"It hurt, and now there is blood all over the sheets. Are you capable of understanding how difficult that is to remove from..." Stefano seemed to realize how human he sounded because he stopped talking.

 

They both silently stared toward one another before Stefano's lips crashed against Sebastian's hungrily. The detective tasted blood on their lips, on their tongues, and the artist's weight was pressing him further against the bed. Hands were on his shoulders, drifting down rest against his collarbone, and teeth clashed against teeth as the kiss grew violent. 

 

Another cry, and Stefano pulled back.

 

"You bit me."

 

"I bit you."

 

"Do it again."

 

"Honestly, Stefano...this is...you have to stop, goddammit."

 

A finger was pressed against his lips, and he fell quiet. Stefano was staring down at him, lust swimming in the pools of his eyes. He studied him without speaking another word, and Sebastian saw his teeth when he smiled. 

 

They were stained pink by his blood.

 

"Do you truly want me to stop?"

 

"I-"

 

"How long has it been since someone touched you? You don't strike me as the type of man that runs around with women, carelessly seeking their affections, but truly...you must long for it?" 

 

"What the fuck are you going on about?"

 

"I want to touch you, yet you argue against it. Is it because you are not interested in men, or perhaps you feel this is wrong to do, taking your wife into consideration." 

 

"She left me," Sebastian replied before he could stop himself.

 

"Then what is the problem?"

 

Sebastian knitted his brows together, and his heart skipped a beat. None of the excuses he could provide would suffice for Stefano, he was sure. He frowned, and just shook his head.

 

"I don't know. Stefano, we shouldn't. You tried to kill me."

 

"You killed me." 

 

Sebastian was silent, remembering Stefano's blood coating the skin of his hands. It coated the skin of his lips now, though the Italian seemed alright with that.

 

"I wouldn't have killed you if you didn't-"

 

"Now is not the time for pointing fingers, and passing blame. That does get old, doesn't it? You can tell me how much you hate me, if you would like. I have heard it all before. Tell me how disgusting I am. How I am a horrid person. How I deserve to die."

 

"..."

 

There was pain laced throughout the spaces in those words, but Stefano wouldn't admit it, and Sebastian wouldn't admit that he'd heard it.

 

"I wish to be loved, by you, even if only temporarily."

 

"Jesus Christ..." 

 

"Please, don't fight me. I mean, I suppose that was a poor choice in words. It's not like you can anyway, what, given your current predicament?"

 

"Are you fucking with me right now?"

 

Stefano leaned close, bent over the man below him. Strands of his hair curtained Sebastian's face, obscuring his vision and blinding him to the other's face.

 

"Do I sound like I am?"

 

"You smell like blood," Sebastian complained, nose wrinkling up in disgust, and he turned his head away from the Italian. Stefano didn't move.

 

"Who is to blame for that?"

 

"I thought this wasn't a time to be shifting blame?"

 

"...you are right, of course. How could I be so foolish?"

 

"I don't fucking know." 

 

"I wish to touch you." 

 

"You've said that."

 

"Your blood tastes exquisite."

 

"I think I remember you saying that too."

 

"And, I mean it. I believe I have decided that it is better flowing through your veins like the Fountain of Life that you are, revitalizing me. A strange emotion, to long for you in such a way. I thought surely I would kill you, and be over with it, but it seems as though my heart has decided otherwise."

 

"You have one of those?"

 

"Very funny."

 

"I'm sorry. That was a pretty fucked up thing to say. You have one."

 

"I very nearly didn't, if I may remind you of that," Stefano replied smoothly, eyeing the man's face curiously. He had lifted his head, watching how Sebastian seemed to contemplate what was safe to say.

 

"You are free to say what you wish to say, Sebastian."

 

"I wish to say a lot."

 

"Oh?"

 

"We don't have time for my bitching."

 

"We have plenty of time, but I do long to get started," Stefano whispered, teasingly pressing himself flush against the other.

 

"Fuck."

 

"Fuck? Oh, yes. I did plan for that, at least."

 

"Jesus fuck."

 

"That is a bit much," the Italian stated with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the man's jaw, "you should shave."

 

"I would love to, but..."

 

"Perhaps another time?"

 

"Fuck, I don't know."

 

"You talk quite a bit, but I do enjoy the sound of your voice. You make me feel a warmth I thought had died."

 

Another beat of silence passed between, and Stefano's lips had trailed down, planting kisses along his throat. Sebastian's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly, and he groaned.

 

"Stefano."

 

"For once, I would advise using your voice for something else."

 

The man fell quiet as he felt teeth graze his neck, threatening to bite down and break his skin between incisors.

 

"Ow! Shit," Sebastian shouted, inhaling sharply.

 

"Yes, that's it. I adore the pain you feel, but I guarantee that I will be fair. Be patient, and I will...care for you," Stefano purred, despite the deep-seated feeling that these words tasted strange on his tongue.

 

Before Sebastian could argue, Stefano's nimble fingers were deftly unbuttoning his shirt with a precision that the detective attributed to his skill as an artist. It was pulled open, revealing the skin of his chest, but getting it off of his arms was a fruitless endeavor. Stefano left it as it was, quickly leaning down to capture skin between his lips, between teeth. 

 

"Fuck. Watch your fucking canines."

 

As though mocking him, Stefano forcefully sunk his teeth into a place just below his collarbone, just above his left pectoral.

 

It dawned on Sebastian once more that the artist wasn't wearing gloves as he felt the cool skin of his hand sliding down toward the waistband of his pants. He tried to buck the other off, shuddering at the sound of the Italian's gasp. 

 

"Sebastian, unless you want this to hurt," Stefano trailed off against his skin, but the look in his eyes was hungry. No, it was starving, craving Sebastian with a hunger that the man couldn't recall ever seeing in the irises of any past partners. It made his heart skip a beat.

 

Lips met the detective's, and once again, the kiss consisted of teeth, tongue, and Sebastian was pliant underneath the artist's focused ministrations.

 

The touch lasted until they were both gasping for air, and fingers were struggling to remove a belt, to undo a button. He was being undressed, quickly, by eager hands.

 

Sebastian's mind was reeling, his thoughts moving a mile a minute. He was startled to find that he thought of Stefano often. He heard the Italian swear, and glanced at him. His breath caught.

 

The artist was fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt now, though while distracted he didn't realize that parts of his scar were showing through parts in his bangs.

 

Sebastian had the strangest urge to brush them aside, to kiss his brow. He could only imagine how much pain it had put the other through, and as he thought about it he realized how much it played into how the man before him acted.

 

The human mind could only handle so much trauma. 

 

"Ah, finally."

 

Sebastian's eyes were drawn back into focus, and he watched Stefano shed the shirt, tossing it across the room without a care in the world. His skin was pale against Sebastian's, body more lithe and elegantly carved as though out of stone. It reminded the man of an old Roman statue.

 

It faintly occurred to Sebastian that Stefano was pressed firmly against his nude form, and he growled softly. Squirming did nothing but tighten the scarf around his wrists, very nearly cutting off blood flow. He watched the other with narrowed eyes. 

 

Stefano sat up, weight pressing against the man's groin, and Sebastian saw him lift one of his own hands to his lips.

 

"What are you-"

 

"Sh.."

 

He saw teeth, and before he knew it, Stefano was biting into the cut that he'd left, peeling it open. Making it bleed anew. The room smelled overwhelmingly like iron, and Stefano's pupils were blown wide. They were the eyes of a shark. "Sebastian, I need you. I need you to need me."

 

"Need you...?"

 

"Yes. Tell me you need me."

 

"I can't."

 

"Even if it is a lie, I long to hear you say those words."

 

"Stefano, Jesus Christ. You just bit your hand open. Is that why it was bleeding before?!"

 

"It will be fine."

 

Sebastian wanted to argue, but he lost his voice as that same hand wrapped tightly around his half erect cock.

 

"Fuck!"

 

Stefano smiled softly, leaning forward to capture Sebastian's lips with his own. The detective tried to focus on the kiss, but it was too gentle. Too slow. He didn't want to think about the fact that those long, slender fingers were wrapped around him, stroking him in a way that made him desperate for air. He felt like he was melting, and freezing simultaneously.

 

"That's it. Let go of your restraint. You don't need it here."

 

Cool skin against the flame that was his, and caressed him in all the right places, with all the right motions. His mind was spinning. Electric sparks ran down the path of his spine, made him gasp, made him groan, and he was partially aware that he bucked into the other's fingers.

 

"Let me go," he growled, but Stefano ignored him.

 

"You seem to enjoy this."

 

"God, it smells like blood. Doesn't that fu-fucking hurt?"

 

"It does, but in such a perfectly delightful way."

 

Blood was smeared across the skin of his manhood, and Stefano squeezed lightly, a teasing grin gracing his features.

 

"Damn you to hell..."

 

"You tried that already."

 

"Fuck..."

 

"We are trying that now."

 

Sebastian was royally hard, his cock aching as Stefano continued to touch him with gentle, measured touches. He knew what he was doing, the bastard.

 

"You're throbbing in my hand."

 

"Shut...the fuck up..."

 

"Ah, it's already..." Stefano trailed off, and Sebastian swore he saw stars as the other swiped a thumb over the head of his cock, over the slit where precum oozed out. The droplets that weren't caught on the pad of a thumb dripped down, mingling with the blood.

 

Sebastian lost count of how many jerks, how many twists of that hand, it took to send him over the edge. A wave of unwanted ecstasy washed him out to sea, and he misplaced his mind in the orgasm that caused him to spill over into the artist's hand.

 

The brunet watched in a daze as the Italian licked his hand free of cum, and blood. A shudder ran through both of them simultaneously, and Stefano dragged the filthy hand down Sebastian's chest, smearing blood across skin.

 

He hummed his approval before beginning to unbutton his own pants desperately, trying to tear them away from his body.

 

In a flurry of motions, and swears, they both sat nude, and Stefano wasted no time, kissing the man before him, a ravenous touch that set them both ablaze. The artist pushed his body close to Sebastian's, and if the man could think straight he would remember pinning Stefano against the wall prior.

 

He wasn't thinking now. He was feeling. Stefano was grinding against him, groaning against his neck as he pressed more kisses along it. The heat was too much. He was too sensitive. His cock jolted at the feeling of a touch, of a caress, and it longed to be held once more.

 

"I need you."

 

The words escaped Sebastian's lips before he had time to think about them.

 

Stefano paused, surprised, and looked at Sebastian's face. He was searching for something he didn't seem to find. He untangled himself from the man, and for a moment the detective thought he said something wrong.

 

"Stefano?"

 

"No, be quiet for a moment. I need to...think. Say it again, please."

 

"You...wanted me to be quiet," Sebastian managed, looking at the other's face. He saw knitted brows, and uncertainty.

 

"Please."

 

"I said it...I need you."

 

That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed. He swooped back in to kiss the man briefly before pulling away. Blood smeared fingers trailed down Stefano's lithe torso, trailed down legs, and Sebastian had an idea where they were going.

 

He swallowed hard as Stefano pushed a finger into himself. Stefano placed his other hand on Sebastian's shoulder to help steady himself, a sharp intake of air sounding throughout the room. He pushed the finger deeper into his body, spreading his knees apart slightly, and with that his hand pressed down on the other's shoulder.

 

Sebastian leaned closer, and kissed places on his neck that he could reach.

 

Minds were unclear. Fingers dug into flesh, into the spaces above collarbone, and gasps mingled. Lips found sensitive places, and kissed, and bit. Tongues explored mouths with reckless abandon, and bodies were pressed firmly against each other. Sebastian buried his teeth in the crevice where neck met shoulder. 

 

"I need this."

 

"Stefano."

 

"Do not back out on me now. I need this. I need you. If I don't at least receive your attention this one time, I think I will completely lose myself."

 

"Jesus."

 

Stefano's lips met Sebastian's, slow dancing with them. Time seemed to stop for them, and the detective had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, but the thought flew from his brain as he felt the artist wrap slender fingers around his cock once more.

 

He was thoroughly aroused, and part of him knew he should feel nothing but shame. He did feel shame, but there were other feelings, other emotions bleeding into the mixture.

 

Stefano was sitting on his own knees, angling Sebastian's second head against his entrance. 

 

Now time was moving too fast.

 

Stefano's body was an open flame, setting Sebastian ablaze as he pressed down against him. The air smelled of blood, and cum. The Italian's moans were separated by hisses as Stefano inhaled. The head of Sebastian's cock pushed past the ring of muscle insistently seeking for more heat as it engulfed him.

 

There was difficulty slotting into the other's body, though this was lessened by the fact that the skin of his length was slick was various liquids, and Stefano had offered some preparation prior to pushing his hips down against Sebastian's groin.

 

With some effort, he managed to fit the entirety of Sebastian inside of him.

 

"You are well endowed," Stefano spoke after a moment, words shaking from the exertion. Sebastian could feel his thighs trembling, but he didn't trust himself to speak. He was fighting the urge to buck into the warmth surrounding his cock.

 

He was pulling at the scarf with a frenzy that suggested his determination to free himself of his restraints. The Italian, however, paid little attention to the actions performed by the man below him. He slowly rocked his hips against Sebastian's, bodies fitted together like two pieces of a puzzle that made no logical sense, had no logical order, yet felt right.

 

"Do you...have any idea...any inkling...how badly I have...have longed for you in this way? I...I have needed you...for...for so long, and now you are here. I never want to let you go."

 

"Fuck." 

 

Sebastian was trying not to think about how he was buried to the hilt in this other man's body, or how it felt as though they were made for this. He tried not to hear the unsaid love confession that was interwoven within the man's words. He tried to remind himself who he was, who Stefano was, and why this made no sense.

 

It made no sense.

 

Yet, at the same time, it was the only thing that did.

 

Hips swayed against his, their bodies waltzed with one another. The sounds Stefano made were sweet, and sent waves of electricity down Sebastian's spine. He wanted to push him down. Their skin, their words, they were the disguises that hid their true intent in the masquerade they lingered in.

 

Sebastian jerked his hips up roughly, and was gifted a loud mewl escaping the other's lips. After twisting his wrist around, he was able to tear it free of the scarf. He sat up quickly, making sure the other was seated on him firmly, and his fingers found their way into Stefano's hair.

 

"No, don't-"

 

"If we do this, we do it my way," Sebastian hissed into the man's ear, and he felt Stefano shudder in his arms. 

 

"Oh, yes," the artist hissed. 

 

Sebastian yanked the Italian's head back, fingers wrapped in strands of hair. The man exposed his throat submissively, a scarred eye staring down at him and watching him carefully. 

 

"That means no hiding from me," the brunet added after a moment of taking in the other's face fully. 

 

"Sebastian..."

 

Tugging his other wrist free from the scarf's hold, he placed it on the man's waist. He forced him against him, eliciting a cry from him. 

 

"Don't stop now," he mumbled against Stefano's neck, kissing skin as Stefano whined. He felt the man move against him, eager for tension, and his heart was pounding in his ears. 

 

He was pushing into the other, meeting his thrusts, and his grunts cut through the delicious groans.

 

Hands gripped the undersides of Stefano's thighs, supporting his weight as Sebastian dropped the artist's back against the bed. He towered over the him, fingers digging softly into skin. He pulled the other body closer to his, and felt those long legs wrap around his waist.

 

The sight of the man underneath him made his breath catch in his throat. Normally, the artist was orderly. He was put together, and often looked sophisticated with his many aspects, and articles of clothing. Now, however, he was disheveled and staring up Sebastian with a gaze that made his heart stop.

 

Sebastian snapped his hips forward, pushing deeper into the body below his. Stefano cried out, tossing his head back. The force of the thrust caused his body to jolt, and he smirked at the other, eyes lidded as though eyelids were made of lead.

 

"Don't stop now," he teased. 

 

Sebastian sneered, arm against the bed beside Stefano's head to brace himself as he forced himself in as deep as he could. He continued to shove in, keeping a brutal rhythm, and the artist below him was reduced to a writhing mess. 

 

"Sebastian!~" 

 

His name on the other's tongue, with the lilt of that accent, was like music to his ears. He kissed bare skin softly, mumbling for him to say it again, and again. His name was shouted from Stefano's lips as though a prayer, and Sebastian felt a familiar heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. He was surprised he'd lasted this long.

 

"Stefano..."

 

"Inside, Sebastian. I want to feel it."

 

Sebastian was surprised, but he said nothing. He spread the other's legs open wider, saw Stefano's fingers desperately try to wrap around his own cock. 

 

He pumped his wrist in time with Sebastian's thrusts.

 

A few more shoves forward, and Stefano came across his stomach. The detective wasn't far behind. He filled the other's body, and shudders ran down his spine, causing him to tremble against the other. 


End file.
